The Mechanics of the Sky
by Inkpot satsuma
Summary: Set in s8. Castiel hunts along with Dean and Sam. When an old friend with a questionable sense of humour returns from the dead, the three hunteri heroici must search for a mythical artefact to prevent a calamity, while the balance in Heaven continues to crumble. Freshly established destiel.
1. Onwards and westwards

**Long first chapter, sorry about that, I hope you don't mind :)**

**This idea popped into my head, and I just had to write this fic... I don't know how many chapters there will be, probably around 5, I don't want to make it too long.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Supernatural. Which is probably why I'm writing this fic in the first place.**

**Enjoy and please review :D**

* * *

It all started with Cas wanting to go west.

At first, he was just fidgety, occasionally lost in thought, and often looking into the distance in great focus, as if listening out for something. In a spare moment after a hunt, Dean nudged him and asked if he was cool. Cas' reply that he was indifferent to temperature prompted Dean to rephrase the question in a more angel-friendly way, and this time Cas replied that he was fine. But something in his eyes and voice made Dean refrain from buying it. Still, he let it lie, knowing from experience that pressing Castiel too heavily hardly ever led anywhere nice. And because he wasn't familiar with any other method of coaxing someone to talk (all that touchy-feely-Sammy crap), he decided to wait and see how the situation developed.

It developed not too favourably. Castiel's slight unease grew, making him look a little like a man on an insomnia streak – slightly out of it, a bit nervous and pensive. Well, the latter was a permanent fixture of the angel's personality, but recently it felt slightly different than usually. Over the next few days Castiel grew more and more withdrawn, and at the same time tense. On several occasions, when the three of them were discussing a hunt and trying to work out where to head after the creature, Cas suggested "We should go west", even if the tracks blatantly led south. When it happened four times in two days, Dean decided to try to tackle the issue again. So again he asked Castiel if everything was alright – this time, his angel at least had the grace to hesitate, and then he gave Dean the worst answer: "I don't know". Dean always hated that answer. Nothing good ever came of it. Especially with shitty lives like they had.

Two days later, Castiel woke him up at an _unholy_ early hour and asked that they head west. There was something so painful, pleading and concerned in his eyes that whatever remark Dean felt coming up had lodged in his throat, and without a word he nudged Sammy awake and started packing. As he loaded the bags into the Impala and slammed the trunk slightly more forcefully than necessary, he was trying to fight off a creepy feeling that something was wrong, because, hell, when _wasn't_ something wrong? Especially when Castiel didn't know what was going on? He wanted to know, but at the same time he felt he wasn't going to touch the thing with a ten foot pole – if something was wrong with Cas again…

That had been this morning. Now it's afternoon, and the Impala glides across the empty road, bound west, set to Castiel's inner compass demand. The car is filled with silence so thick Dean thinks it's about to stink, and he just grits his teeth and sticks his eyes to the road. It always works for him – to just get into the car and drive, just away. The road is the only constant. Or something like that.

Almost against his will, his eyes briefly flick up to catch the sigh of Castiel in the rear view mirror – his angel is staring pensively ahead, but the urgency is slightly less intense than it was this morning. Apparently, heading west helps a bit. Dean knows he should he surprised at himself – driving god knows where for god knows what reason just because someone feels the need to.

But it's Cas.

That makes the difference. That's reason enough.

That, and he doesn't know how to ask without screaming, so he's trying to hold back for now. He's too freaked out, so all he can do for now is drive, because Cas sure as hell needs to be west, whatever the hell that means, and wherever the hell that gets them.

But Sammy isn't going to let it lie, he can see that already by the way the sasquatch is squirming in his seat. That's the "I'm about to prod the awkward subject" squirm, along with the concerned St Bernard dog eyes and all.

"Sooo…" Sam breaks the silence, and Dean cringes, because hell does it sound awkward. "Why west?" Sammy turns to look over his shoulder at Castiel in the backseat.

Cas' eyes shift and settle on Sam – frown, pensive, as if he's listening to something inside himself to try and provide an answer. Dean swallows and jerks his shoulders a little, because suddenly he's too stiff and too tense. If the answer is really bad, he's seriously gonna flip – he can't take any new shit right now, not just after finding out all the bitch-Naomi stuff and after he and Cas… just… not now. Everything is too fresh now.

"I'm not sure," Castiel replies in gravelly, thoughtful voice, and his frown deepens contemplatively. He's got this look that he sometimes gets – like he's trying to translate something angelic into human terms. Come to think, it's probably what he does, a lot. "I feel there is something… drawing me there. Something is going to happen in the west."

Dean swallows.

"Something bad?" he shoots.

Castiel's eyes meet his through the rear view mirror.

"No," it feels like having a brick drop off his chest. "I don't think so," half a brick, then.

"Okay…" Dean grunts and then frowns, glancing back to the road. "What kind of call? Angel radio? I thought you dimmed that."

"No, it is not the… angel radio," Castiel is still thinking intensely. "But it's something related to it. I… I'm sorry, I cannot explain sufficiently. I do not know enough myself. But it feels… familiar. In a positive sense," well, that's the most reassuring thing said so far.

"But…" Dean swallows. "You're OK., right? I mean, no side effects or anything?"

"I believe I am fine."

Well, that's as close to good news as the three of them would ever get.

"Actually, west is proven to be somehow _magnetic_ to people," Sam announces in his wannabe professor voice, and Dean clenches his teeth again, this time though it's with irritation. "Almost 70% of runaways direct themselves west for some reason. Also, great explorations in history are often made west, and the migration processes of humanity often occur westward, just like empire expansions and conquests – the Mongols, the Osman empire, Ancient Rome…"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean growls.

"There is a theory of the influence of the magnetic field of the Earth-"

"I swear, Sammy, I'm gonna hit the brakes so hard you'll fly through the windshield!"

Sam shoots a bullet from his bitchface arsenal, and continues with premeditation.

"The Ancient Greeks located the gateway to Hades in the west."

Cas twitches in the backseat, suddenly attentive.

"Oh, that's friggin' great," Dean grumbles.

"What I'm saying, Dean, is that west has some drive. Maybe… maybe we'll just find out as we go on."

Dean just nods sarcastically and tries to focus on the road. Miles pass by in silence as he occasionally checks up on Castiel in the mirror – angel seems to be thinking about something again, only this time it seems a bit less hazy. Good, maybe he's on the way to figuring out what's going on.

Thirty miles later, Sam speaks again, and it happens when Castiel scowls slightly at a temporary turn north, before settling down again as the car continues west after a moment.

"Remember that _X-Files_ episode where that guy had to keep driving west, or otherwise his head was gonna explode?"

Dean clenches his hands on the wheel, because ever since remembering it about half an hour ago, he's been trying very, very damn hard not to think about it.

"Shut up, Sammy," he snaps in a low growl.

But the images are in his brain now, and he inspects Castiel through the rear view mirror again. A moment passes, and he clears his throat.

"Cas, you, uh… you feel any pressure in your head?" it's bloody idiotic, but he just can't stop it. Friggin Sam.

The bottomless blue eyes tear themselves away from whatever distance they're gazing into, and shift to meet Dean's in the mirror.

"I assure you, Dean, I am fine. Furthermore, I have seen that episode with Sam, and I promise you I am not suffering from any unusual sound frequency effects."

Dean grunts, reassured, and promises himself to shave Sam's head for bringing up the crap just to spook him. And for showing Cas the _X-Files_ without him.

"Nor would I be in any ways affected if I were exposed to any sound frequencies whatsoever," Castiel adds, and Dean nods.

"Good to know."

They drive on in silence, only occasionally interrupted. In late afternoon they stop for food at a roadside diner, and as Dean and Sam eat, Castiel watches them with an intensity that's more disturbing than usually, because it's not directed at them. His mind is somewhere else again, and Dean swallows a massive bite of his burger to push down some weird, unpleasant feeling in his gut. He doesn't like to delve into those things, and he sure as hell isn't gonna be doing that next to Sammy.

Point is, Cas was doing better lately. Really better. After they'd found out about the whole situation with the bitch-Naomi, as Dean had taken to calling her (if that name passed through his mouth at all), he felt like they'd lost the paddles in the middle of that shit creek, but eventually they managed to cope. The solution was really temporary, but the best they could come up with – as Castiel, under intense interrogation and help, finally managed to remember the bitch, he asked to be put in a ring of holy oil fire. Dean was against it for a moment, but then Castiel explained that it would effectively stop the bitch from grabbing him, and hence give them time to think things through. Pushing down panic and muttering at Cas to keep _freaking still_, he lit the ring in the middle of an underground parking lot of an abandoned construction site, and he and Sam talked to Castiel through the flames. What Dean heard raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and made him see red. After an obligatory fury attack (which he tried to keep short), he rejoined the conference and heard out Cas' instructions for preparation of an amulet that should ward off bitch-Naomi's influence and keep him hidden from her. For the time being. Neither Sam nor Dean dared to demand a specification of that time.

And so they had made the amulet, following the instructions. It wasn't an easy job, considering the ingredients and the fact that Castiel stayed still in the middle of the fire ring, but they managed, in under twelve hours, for that matter. The amulet is now tied securely around Cas' right wrist, employed as a bracelet – a small ring of metal, carved with a sigil.

And the amulet seems to work – or to _have worked_, Dean thinks now with a dread. It was better, really, for the past few weeks. Castiel was definitely back to his good old repressed self, and no one was poking around in his mind.

Cas himself had said it was a temporary solution though. The thought that the warranty might just have ran out on their product makes Dean completely lose his appetite. He grumbles at Sam to hurry up with his rabbit food.

They carry on driving through the remainder of the day, into the dusk, and from there into the night. They eventually become too tired (save for the angel in the backseat, that is) to search for a motel in the dark, and they take a turn into a field road, drive for a moment, and park in an anonymous middle of nowhere. Before switching off the engine, Dean turns the car so it faces west, ready to clobber Sammy if he makes one mention about it. He doesn't.

Without the hum of the engine the silence feels thick and odd, as if unnatural, and Dean glances at Castiel in the mirror.

"I'll keep watch," Castiel says, and with a shift of air and wings he's gone, practically simultaneously appearing outside, ass perched in a half-seat against the hood of the car. Dean can only see the back of his head, but he knows he's got this pensive look on, gazing off into west.

"Well," Dean opens the door to migrate into the backseat. "Nighty-night, Sammy."

"'night," his brother mumbles, attempting to distribute his freakishly long body across the front seat. At least next morning there will be someone waking up with a bigger cramp than Dean.

He stretches and glances at Castiel as he opens the back door, but his angel is still on lookout for the invisible, unknown something, so Dean clambers into the car and lays back, staring up unseeingly for a moment. He's tired, but his whole body hums with some energy produced by the anxiety.

Insects are buzzing into the warm summer night, their monotonous drone seeping in through the windows, and Dean tries to even out his breathing. The smell of dry grass baked in sunny heat mixes with the energising scent of night, not at all slowing down the blood circulation in his veins, and he can hear the open space all around them, even the sounds from the road muffled into nothingness by distance and the insects. He tries to let go and remember that Cas said he was fine, that this whole thing most likely isn't anything bad.

Sam's monumental snoring revs up, and Dean mumbles a curse under his breath, his chances of falling asleep well and truly gone. But at least he knows that Sam is sound asleep, so he can do what he's been itching for the whole day – get some time alone with Cas.

He gets up and out, leaving the door ajar so the slam doesn't wake up his brother, and he smirks a little as he once again stretches into the still night air – Sammy's feet protrude from the opened window, and even despite that his gargantuan body is still cramped in the front seat. Dean smirks with fondness, passing the sight on his way to the hood of the car where Castiel hasn't changed his position an inch, still perched and still looking into the west. The night is clear, and Dean watches his angel's silhouette for a moment – slumped yet straight, relaxed yet tense. Only Cas can pull off those opposites so well. Like the head tilt.

Castiel is well aware of his presence, of course, so Dean doesn't speak, he just joins him on the hood of the Impala in the half-sit, shoulders brushing as together they look westward. After a moment of cicada-filled silence, Dean leans a little to the left, nudging Cas.

"Any change?" he asks.

Castiel turns his head to face him, blue eyes leaving west without even an ounce of reluctance to settle on his, and Dean likes this. It feels like being more magnetic than the west, or whatever.

"I feel more at ease since we head west," Cas shares, though one couldn't tell it from the look of his ever-pensive face.

Dean nods, shifting minimally closer, so their bodies are pressed along the line of their sides completely.

"Listen… not to sound like a dick or anything but… couldn't you just fly wherever the hell you feel you need to go?" he asks. "I mean, would've been a lot faster than driving," he explains.

Castiel shakes his head slowly.

"I distinctly feel I need all three of us to go there. And I don't know the destination," he confesses. "It's all… extremely vague," he turns to look into the west again. "It is quite inconvenient."

"Hey," Dean prompts softly, reaching out a hand to brush along the jaw line on the other side of Cas' face, gently coaxing him to turn towards him again.

The touch feels right and _good_, the light scrape of stubble running against the back of his curled fingers, and the blue eyes hit home in his own. He trails his hand down a little, resting in on the crook of Castiel's neck, fingers unfurling to close around the nape, and his thumb rubs small, tender touches over Cas' jaw, just under the ear.

Dean bites on the inside of his lip, thinking for a moment.

"You know that if there's anything wrong, you can tell me, right? Or Sam," he makes sure, he wants to make sure Cas understands this, looking closely into his eyes.

Castiel angles his head to the side, leaning into Dean's touch like a kitten or a puppy, and Dean smiles a little, despite the still flickering concern chewing at his gut.

"Yes," his angel pronounces solemnly, and he nods, moving in to rest his forehead against Castiel's, allowing his eyes to close just for a moment. His other hand travels up to cup Cas' cheek, and his thumb strokes over the cheekbone, evoking a quiet sigh from the angel.

The cicadas keep buzzing, and Dean just keeps breathing, feeling the pressure of Castiel's forehead against his own, and it feels _good_. Simple, right, natural – good. It's a very plain, open feeling, and Dean doesn't get to experience that often in his life, so he almost doesn't know what to do with it, and he's not sure if there's actually anything he should do. Maybe that's what it is about – just feeling good. No strings attached.

Castiel shifts gently, and Dean can feel the warmth of his hand resting on his shoulder, then travelling down his side and settling at his hip. The touch leaves a trail of tingly warmth, and he's fairly sure it's some angel mojo type of caress.

Thinking of mojo makes him swallow and open his eyes. He just has to ask the question. Like ripping off the bandaid – the sooner and quicker the better.

"Cas… it's… it's not _her_, right?" he asks, and he almost doesn't recognise his own voice, because it comes out cracked and scratchy.

Castiel's eyes open and he gently, stoically pulls away, just a little, their faces a few inches from each other. The impossible blue eyes stare calmly and assuredly into Dean's, and suddenly he already begins to feel better.

"No, Dean," Castiel answers levelly, with such absolute conviction that the gnawing fear flies out of Dean like it never really was there. Amazing. "It is not Naomi. I remember how her summons felt, and I can assure you what I am feeling now is completely different. It is… _good_," Cas tries, but is clearly dissatisfied with his words. "It is a positive sensation, but no less urgent. It is familiar, but I can't identify it yet."

Dean nods, swallowing, feeling pretty much as if he just hit the bed after one motherfucker of a hunt. There are a few things he wants to say – _I'm so glad_ or _I'm happy_ or maybe _I love you_, but he can't. Somehow, words get lost or mixed up on their way from his brain to his mouth, so sometimes he thinks it's best not to speak at all. So now he just nods, pressing his forehead to Castiel's again, and then leans in a bit more to kiss him instead of saying all those things. He was always better at show than tell.

Cas' lips are soft and chapped and familiar, and they part gently as Dean seeks to deepen the kiss. It's warm, slow and all about comfort and being together, not heat and making out, because this is what this moment is like. It too feels _good_. Natural and right, and Dean deepens the kiss just a little bit more, pulling Cas closer as the angel hums quietly into his mouth, and Dean can taste the smooth electricity and light of his voice on his own tongue.

Dean doesn't know when he realised what he feels for Cas, or rather, he doesn't know when he started feeling it. It sort of happened in stages – or maybe it happened already back in Hell, and he just doesn't remember it. He's not good at this kind of thing. What matters is that for a few weeks now he and Cas are… whatever the hell they are – boyfriends, lovers, partners? None of those really sound right, they're too limited. But Dean doesn't care. Not talking about feelings has the distinct advantage of not being forced to pick out a name from a bag of unfitting words.

He sucks gently on Cas' lower lip, biting a bit into the supple flesh, because damn, it's addictive, and he pulls away a bit. Cas, eyes still closed, lips glossed and parted, leans forward, following him with a quiet breath, and Dean stares for a moment, because Cas looks… well, damn – angelic. But he doesn't stare long, because his angel is kissing him now, and Dean sure as hell isn't going to complain about that. Cas' needy kisses are awesome.

A rapid knocking on the windshield startles them both on a reflex, but Dean immediately grins and carries on kissing Cas, because he knows what it is.

"Guys! I didn't want front row seats for this show!"

Dean flips off his brother without pulling away from Cas.

* * *

It's literally rise and shine the next day, because Castiel wakes them up at sunrise – _bloody sunrise_! – and asks they 'continue their westward excursion'. But now that Dean knows it's nothing big, bad and terrible, he feels a lot better sitting behind the wheel, even if the bed-headed Sam keeps whining and rubbing his eyes and complaining how he got next to no sleep because his brother insisted on molesting an angel on the windshield.

"Yeah, I know, I even heard your snoring," Dean grumbles. "Quit whining, princess."

Sam just huffs and slumps, closing his eyes and apparently trying to catch some more sleep as the Impala rolls down the road at a steady speed.

The sun climbs up the sky, miles tick on the meter, Sam's brief snore fest ends around ten, and Dean feels a whole lot better than yesterday. And the further west they go, the better Cas seems to feel, too.

"So, you're gonna know we're there once we get there?" Dean asks, looking at his angel through the mirror.

"I believe so, yes," Castiel nods.

"Yeah, well, I hope you get the feeling quick," Dean says, glancing at a battered road sign informing them they've just left Arizona and entered California. "Cause we're running out of west."

An hour later they're still driving west, only Cas seems a bit more fidgety again. He looks uneasy, like he can't find a comfortable way to sit back, and he keeps staring into the road ahead, perched in the middle of the backseat.

"Dean…" he murmurs, frowning, looking slightly tired, his voice raspy. "Dean, please go faster."

Sam makes an abrupt, choked noise, between a snort and a gag, and Dean, feeling his cheeks burn bright red, glares death into the side of his brother's face. He presses the gas pedal a bit more, adding ten more mph, and watches Castiel ease back, visibly feeling relieved.

Sam is trying to swallow back some snickers that are still fighting to come up after Cas' brilliantly phrased request, because he knows Dean definitely isn't in the mood to be provoked right now. Instead, he saves the precious memory for later, to make proper use of it, and opens up his laptop to check if in all the files and downloaded texts he has on it he can find something on angels and connection to west.

"Hey, Cas, you said it's a positive feeling, right?" he asks after a few minutes of flipping through his virtual library – though nothing compares to holding a real, ancient volume in his hands, turning the pages, browsing the illustrations…

"Yes. It is familiar."

"Okay, like… someone you know?" Sam opens up a few files.

"The signal is weak and dimmed," Castiel replies. "But I think it might be described like that," he adds after a moment of thought.

It's a long shot and no real chance he'll find anything, but Sam is bored and doesn't want to watch his brother eyefuck the angel through the mirror. And since looking out the window got boring a while ago, this is the only option left.

Two hours later they can see the first glimpses of the Pacific ahead, and Dean begins mumbling something about _not_ boarding a freighter to Hawaii or something, and Sam has given up on his half-hearted research in favour of solitaire. He hasn't found anything, not many texts of those he has on his computer mention west in connection to angels, and when they do, it doesn't really seem relevant to what Cas is having here.

They are rolling down a road in a really wild spot, where nothing is built except for a few industrial-looking abandoned buildings, when Castiel suddenly straightens up, tense.

"Stop!" he calls out, and Dean slams on the brakes without a moment of hesitation and so hard that Sam almost flies through the windshield.

"What is it, are you okay?" Dean turns to look over his shoulder at the angel in the backseat, not sparing a look for his brother.

Sure. If god forbid Sam was ever in the hospital on a life support, Dean was ready to unplug his own brother in order to make room to charge up his angel's smartphone, should it suddenly die. That is to say, Sam isn't jealous, or anything, of course – he just doesn't appreciate Dean's severely one-track mind sometimes.

"We're here," Castiel says, and Sam momentarily forgets to be pissed off at his brother.

Dean hovers, turned back to the steering wheel, half-hanging over the back of his seat.

"Okay, where is here?" he asks after a beat, when Cas doesn't elaborate.

"There," the angel points to what looks like an abandoned warehouse. "The signal is drawing me there."

Just a few moments later the Impala is parked outside the decrepit building, and Dean is loading a gun while Sam slips Ruby's knife behind his belt, just in case. Castiel is already ahead of them, and they catch up by a hole that serves them as an entrance.

Inside it's dark and stinks vaguely of fish and salt. It's like any other old warehouse they ever visited – creepy, trashed with boxes, pieces of construction materials, rusty metal and indistinguishable pieces of general garbage. Castiel slows down a bit, till he stands vaguely in the centre of the floor, dress shoes in a shallow puddle, and looks around.

"What is it with warehouses?" Dean grumbles meanwhile, looking around suspiciously. "So Cas, what now? Anything?"

There is a moment of silence and Sam is beginning to check behind stacks of rotting wooden crates to see if anything lurks behind them, when Cas suddenly speaks, and the urgency in his voice makes Sam feel uneasy.

"Close your eyes."

"What?" Dean is puzzled.

"Close your eyes, now!" Cas orders, taking a few steps back, as if seeing an approaching train, and in the next moment a brightness begins to explode ahead, and Sam instantly shuts his eyes, shielding them with a flexed arm.

The brightness grows, into white, absolute light that squeezes into every particle of every item in the room, and Sam can still _see it_, despite closed and covered eyes, he can feel it, because it's so bright that it burns, and he can feel it trying to press in between his eyelids, and fighting it off takes so much effort that he's groaning.

Finally, it begins dimming, and is gone completely, leaving him with piercing, loud ringing in his ears, and he slowly opens his eyes. At first, his vision is blurred because of keeping his eyes tightly shut and pressing an arm against them, so he blinks, trying to get rid of the annoying fuzz.

He hears Dean gasp, and turns to see that he and Cas are facing two new silhouettes in the room. One of them is a young man, eerily looking like a boy in his late teens, with dark hair and large, impossibly soft, brown eyes with a misty glow in them. He's dressed in a strange sort of white toga pooling around his silhouette, and behind his head radiates a gentle glow, like a… like a _halo_. The boy's hand is resting on the shoulder of the second, similarly dressed silhouette kneeled on the ground, head hanging low for a moment, dark blonde hair slightly messed.

And then the other man raises his head, his body leaning back, transferring its weight as he sits on the heels of his feet, and looks at the chorally gasping trio with a small smirk, honey gold eyes sweeping over them all smugly before landing on Castiel.

"Hey, bro!"

Sam gasps again.

"Gabriel!"

* * *

**There :) I made this chapter so long because I wanted to end with Gabriel's return. The "Hunteri heroici" episode got me all giddy at the beginning, making me hope this was Gabriel returning, but alas, no. So here he is now :D**

**Reviews are loved, reviews are wonderful - and I have pie for reviewers :D**


	2. To business

**Thank you so much for the reviews! *virtual hug* They really prod me on to write :D**

**This chapter is long-ish, too... I guess they decide for themselves where they stop and I have no say in the matter XD Personally, I like this length, hope you do too.**

**Enjoy and review :D**

* * *

The archangel stands up, a bit slow by the standard of his usually energetic moves. The toga-like shroud of pristine white cloth hangs on his small frame, one slightly bony shoulder and half an arm revealed by the hem slipping to the side, and somehow this garb makes him look so much smaller and yet so much more powerful than ever. Sam looks at him, drinking in the somehow captivating image, and more clearly and directly than ever realises that this is the archangel Gabriel – _the_ archangel Gabriel.

"Hello, brother," Castiel responds, and there's a tone of affection in his rough voice.

Gabriel smiles, and turns to the other angel (or so Sam assumes the identity of the creature), patting him on the shoulder and inclining his head briefly in gratitude.

"Thanks, Azzie," he proclaims, and the angel almost smiles, his unbelievably mystical eyes lingering on Gabriel for a moment, before he's gone in a shift of air.

Gabriel clasps his hands together and takes a step forward, taking a breath as if wanting to say something, but then his eyes drop to his attire, and he stops, letting out a small sound of disapproving distaste, lifting his arms a little, the sleeve-like hems of the white sheet pooling down in fluid motion. He snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's back to his usual ensemble of jeans, shirt and jacket, but oddly he seems to be missing his shoes, instead flashing a set of vibrant turquoise socks. He pouts and snaps himself on a pair of snazzy red sneakers, peers critically and changes the colour to olive green. Only after those finishing touches to his personal style does he deign the gaping Winchesters and hushed Castiel with his attention. Well – mostly Castiel.

"Hey, Castiel, glad you got my invite," he announces in his chipper voice, striding casually to his brother, hands in jacket pockets. "I couldn't get through to you completely, something was jamming the radio a bit, so I had to try something else…"

"Excuse me," Dean points two fingers towards the ceiling in a mocking gesture of an elementary school pupil. "Yeah, question time – how the hell are you alive, and who the hell was that?!" he burst out, pointing in the general direction of the just disappeared fifth member of the scene.

"Whoa, Deano, mellow out," Gabriel smirks. "Actually, the answer to those questions is one and the same thing – I happen to be one predicting kind of guy, and always was chummy with Azrael."

"Azrael?" Sam might be stuttering a bit, eyes bulging out. "That… was this…"

"Yep," Gabriel looks very pleased. "You've just met Death's boss. And my little bro. The angel responsible for the souls of the dead and all that. I would've come back earlier, but I had to do some penance first to buy my way back."

"Penance?" Dean asks almost warily.

"Afterlife community service."

"Like what?"

Gabriel arches an eyebrow.

"I was volunteering to wash the elderly dead – none of your business!" he huffs, and Sam wonders what the penance was, for the normally pretty carefree (in regards of himself) archangel to bristle up.

"I received only a very vague call drawing me west," Castiel turns the conversation back to its starting point. "But it felt familiar, though not enough for me to realise it was you."

"Yeah, something was blocking me out…" Gabriel's smile falls as his face morphs into an expression of focus, and he walks up the last few steps to face Castiel. "And there it is…" he takes Castiel by the wrist and lifts his arm, revealing the amulet bracelet hidden up his sleeve. "That's… Someone was…" he trails off, transferring his gaze onto Castiel's face, lets go of his hand, and instead lifts a finger to touch under the angel's left eye, his own gaze suddenly growing very heavy and blazing. He trails his finger up to Castiel's forehead, as if mapping something out, his honey eyes now becoming stormy like amber tossed out of a churning sea, and Sam almost shudders at the sight of all the unearthly power behind that gaze. "Gotcha, you bitch…" Gabriel whispers, and in the next moment he's gone, but instead of a usual flutter of wings, a distinctive beat can be heard, and a whoosh of wind billows up, sweeping up at Castiel's coat, Dean's jacket and Sam's hair, so strong that it lifts various papers off the ground.

The last time the Winchesters had seen an angel leave so abruptly, it wasn't good news.

Dean blinks and shakes his head, as if trying to get something off of it, and turns to Castiel.

"Okay… what the hell was that?" he asks. "Where'd he go?"

Castiel looks at Dean.

"Gabriel went to Heaven," he explains, raising the shock level up another notch. "I believe he has found-"

Midway Cas' sentence, a loud howl of wind blends with a deafening crash and rumble, something blurred landing on the ground with terrific impact that Sam can feel resonating in his legs so much that he stumbles, and he hears Dean yelp out a surprised curse beside him as he too struggles for balance.

On the ground, in a newly shaped, crackled dent in concrete, is lying a woman dressed in a smart suit, her hair messed and an expression of pain and fear on her face as she tries to get up. Over her, towers Gabriel (how the hell can someone so short actually look so looming?), menacing, also slightly ruffled, and the power of sheer wrath on his face and in his eyes is like a blazing hurricane and thunderstorm.

Beside him, Sam can hear Castiel gasp, an he turns to see him take first one step forward and then one step back, suddenly indecisive and conflicted and _scared_.

"It's you…" he whispers, staring at the woman with a mixture of fear and anger.

And while Sam tries to work it out, Dean, whose brainwork reflexes normally aren't the quickest, suddenly gets it all, and rips out his gun, rage in his eyes as he takes quick steps towards the woman.

"You bitch!" he roars, and his voice is hoarse and raw with actual pain, so much of it that Sam flinches and feels his heart tug. It even overpowers his own anger when he realises that the woman on the ground is none other than Naomi.

Before Dean can do anything, there is a snap of fingers and the (anyway useless, unless counted as a frustration-venting tool) gun is gone from his hand, and his feet are suddenly stuck to the floor, magically glued. Dean almost falls from his own momentum, but in a flutter of wings, Castiel is by his side and holding him up.

"Gabriel, let me go!" Dean screams, red in the face. "Let me go, I want to rip out that bitch's lungs with my _bare hands_!"

"Dean," Castiel grips his arm, his voice half-pleading and half-commanding, and Dean notices that Gabriel isn't even looking at him. He can feel Castiel not loosening his grasp, and for some reason this dims the blaring roar of blood in his ears, some of the red mist falling from his vision. But that doesn't stop him from trying to tear his shoes off the ground, or at least slipping his feet out of the shoes, and he's pissed to find he can't do either one.

"Gabriel, please," the bitch on the ground speaks, and Dean feels the fury flare back up.

"You went too far. No matter the reasons," Gabriel's voice is like iron.

"You do not understand!" Naomi gasps, fear in her eyes, and Dean notices one of her wrists is red and bruised. It makes him feel just a little bit better. "The tablet…!"

"You maimed my baby brother!" Gabriel snarls, taking a step closer, and the way Naomi tries to move away but fails indicates she has more injuries.

"_Our_ brother!" she cries out, louder than Gabriel, desperation and anger in her voice. "I did it for _him_, for _all of us_!"

Her scream rings out in the empty warehouse, followed by silence.

"Someone has to protect us! The danger is closer than ever, if the demons, if _anyone_ gets their hands on the tablet of angels… you do not know how it is now, Gabriel! The archangels are gone! Much has changed, but you have been absent for earthly centuries!"

Trying to turn tables on Gabriel seems to be a bad tactic, because along with a flash of anger in the archangel's eyes, an angel killing blade slipps out of his sleeve and into his hand, and Dean could have sworn there was some kind of fire in it for a moment. Naomi gasps.

"Gabriel!" she rasps out, panting in fear, trying to crawl away. "Gabriel…! Hear me out!"

"I've listened to you for a few hours, I'm getting bored now," the archangel's eyes are hard as steel. "You say I left – let me tell you that you remind me of _exactly_ all the reasons why I ditched Heaven," he kneels down and grabs Naomi by the shoulder with his left hand, the female angel crying out in pain, his grip apparently stronger than it looks – and Dean should know.

"No!" Naomi cries out as Gabriel raises the angel killing blade, and this time Dean is sure it's no illusion – like some texts claim, the sword of Gabriel is fiery, but it happens so quickly and so vaguely that it's impossible to see directly.

"Tell Azrael to send back my shoes," Gabriel mutters, and the sword plummets down.

Naomi's cry rips the air apart, and Dean's vision suddenly goes dark, Castiel's hand shielding his eyes, the white, bright light trying to pierce in between his fingers, Dean shutting his eyes closed. On some instinct he places his hand over Castiel's, feeling a flicker of gratitude, because he's somehow certain he would have gotten his eyes burned out otherwise – he wouldn't be able to look away.

The light and scream die down, and Castiel allows his hand to fall away from Dean's eyes, Dean's hand along with it. He blinks, adjusting his vision. Naomi's body lies dead on the ground, two black, charred wing imprints burnt into the concrete. Gabriel is standing, the sword no longer in his hand, and he snaps his fingers, freeing Dean's feet so abruptly that again it's only thanks to Cas that he doesn't fall flat on his face. For a long moment nobody speaks as they all stare at the dead angel's vessel.

Dean stares at her, at her face, at the imprint of wings, and for some reason, apart from deep, primal satisfaction he also feels some sort of unease and annoyance. He usually feels it when he doesn't know what's going on, and like usually, this is the case now. And most importantly, he'd very much like to hear that Cas is free now, free and safe, but that's just too good to be true, he's afraid to even hope for that. He clears his throat.

"So…" his voice comes out a bit crackled and wet, so he swallows, trying to get himself together. "So what, is Cas… you know – free and all that?" he makes a vague hand gesture in lieu of all the things he again just can't say.

Gabriel turns to him with a small smile and that Trickster twinkle in his eyes that makes Dean's skin crawl – but well, at least it seems to mean that things are OK.

"Oh, yes, baby bro is just dandy," Gabriel sticks his hands in his jacket pockets again. "No one poking around his brain anymore. So we don't really need this anymore…" he reaches out for Castiel's wrist and the bracelet on it, his intention to take it off making Dean feel a bit angry and possessive.

Surprisingly, Castiel moves his hand away, gently extracting it from Gabriel's hold.

"I would like to keep it," he declares, and Gabriel blinks, uncharacteristically surprised for a moment, before a new teasing smirk breaks out on his face.

"Oh, I see, Deano-dear made it for you," he coos, batting his eyelashes in a ridiculous way, and Dean grits his teeth. But teasing like this doesn't work on Cas – mostly because he just doesn't get it.

"Yes, it has a sentimental value and I would like to continue wearing it," he deadpans.

"So…" Sam steps back into the picture. "What was it she said about the… _angel tablet_?"

A shadow of seriousness flickers across Gabriel's face.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Kiddo. She was the leader of a group… just 'cause I killed her, doesn't mean the problem is solved, they'll just pick another leader, I killed her 'cause she pissed me off, getting handsy with my baby brother's brain. But yeah, there's an angel tablet, just like there's a demons tablet. Only it doesn't work in the same way. But you guys don't need to worry about that for now."

"What, you're… going back to Heaven?" Sam asks, for some reason feeling confused and a bit disappointed with the prospect.

"Hells, no!" Gabriel laughs a little. "I just got out of an afterlife corner and took a speedy tour of a part of Heaven searching for Miss Moneypenny here, and I'm not going back anytime soon."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean raises his hand in a 'stop' gesture. "Can we please go back to the part where there's an _angels tablet_?!" there's irritation covering up a hint of panic in his eyes, and Sam suddenly realises why – if the demons tablet closes the gates of Hell… what does the tablet of angels do? And what does that mean for Castiel?

Gabriel sighs and rolls his eyes theatrically.

"I told you, chuckleheads, you don't need to worry about that for now. And besides, your boyfriend is safe," he winks, and Dean splutters, flushing bright red.

Sam frowns, still not really satisfied with the stingy explanations.

"But isn't there-"

"Whoa, whoa, enough with the questions for a moment!" Gabriel snaps his fingers and Sam trails off, his words muffling against a large, flat lollipop that suddenly fills his mouth. He blinks and pulls it out, scowling when he notices it's shaped as a clown face.

Luckily enough, Cas doesn't seem to be so easily subdued.

"Gabriel, why do you forbid the questions, when you wished the Winchesters to be here in the first place?" he asks, and amazingly enough, Gabriel doesn't duct tape over his mouth or anything of the sorts. "When drawn here, I distinctly felt it is all three of us that should come, and I know it was caused by your wish."

Gabriel smirks.

"Ding-ding-ding, we have an Ask-The-Right-Question winner! Well, I don't know about you lot, but I'm a bit tired of this dump," he prods an empty, rusty tin can with the tip of his sneaker. "Why don't we talk business in whatever five star hotel you boys docked to now."

Dean jerks as if someone had plugged him into a power socket.

"You are _not_ getting into my car!" he growls.

Gabriel puffs out his lips derisively.

"Oh, please. Only Cassy is enough of a martyr to endure the slow rides. Ah, the power of love…" he sighs in a fake enamoured fashion. "Anyway, since you boys are rib-tagged, Cassy, be an angel and send up a flare when you touch down."

"B-but, wait, what's the business?" Sam asks, surprised, but the only response he gets is an infuriating I-want-to-be-mysterious smirk and a waggle of eyebrows.

And with that, the archangel is gone in a shift of air and a flutter of wings.

"You know what? I'm starting to wish it _had been_ some trap or other shit," Dean grumbles a few moments later, as they head back out of the warehouse and towards the Impala. "I mean, we've got the hunts, the whole tablets crap in the background, and now we gotta deal with this ass-clown, too?"

Sam glances at the lollipop that he'd forgotten he's still holding, and thinks.

"Maybe he can help us with that," he ventures, though not exceptionally hopeful, to be honest. Dean's undermining snort is an answer eloquent enough.

"While I doubt that Gabriel might be direct help in any of our problems, I think it would be unwise not to hear him out," Castiel muses, opening the back door. "My brother's knowledge of heavenly matters is surprisingly thorough and up to date, despite his desertion. It comes from his position in the hierarchy."

"Great," Dean mumbles, turning the key in the ignition. "Friggin great."

Sam sighs pensively and begins to lick the lolly.

* * *

They check into a motel half a day away, because that's how long a drive it takes Castiel to mollify Dean enough to make sure he's not going to snap at Gabriel within the first minutes of the new conversation and perhaps provoke the archangel to send them into another TV land atrocity or something else equally horrible.

Once in the room, Dean deposited some beer in the fridge, keeping one bottle and chugging down almost a quarter of it in a single go, before huffing out a determined breath of a man preparing for a bungee jump from a precipice, and shakes his head.

"Dean," Castiel observes him as he calls dibs on a bed by throwing his bag onto it.

"Hmm?" Dean asks, clutching the bottle a little dependently.

"I know you are not fond of my brother…" his angel hesitates a little, unsure, glancing briefly at his feet as he shifts his weight, and it's so damn cute that it just makes all of Dean's agitation evaporate. "But I believe he might be helpful. Also, he would not ask for us unless he needed us. And also, I would like to see him now that he has been resurrected," he adds, a little quietly, a flicker of sentiment passing through his eyes, and Dean nods slowly, realising that damn, Cas and Gabriel are _brothers_, after all.

Sure, he knows that the heavenly sibling relationships don't really match the classic human take on the matters, and it looks like it's the personal preferences that determine who's whose closest brother or sister. So he kind of gets where Cas is coming from. After all, obnoxious and horrible as he is, Gabriel isn't a total bastard and dickhead like the rest of the angels they've met so far. Generally speaking, because personally Dean still can't _quite_ get over being very imaginatively killed a 100+ times.

Letting out a small breath and half-smiling, he sets the bottle on the table and reaches out to run his hand through Cas' hair affectionately, the soft spikes brushing over his skin as he loses his fingers in the strands, the sensation thrilling and tender at the same time. He moves his hand down to rest on the corner of his angel's gorgeous strong jaw, half-cupping his cheek, thumb rubbing circles over his cheekbone. Castiel's eyes flutter closed for a moment and he breathes a little deeper, serenely, and Dean smiles.

"I know… I know…" he whispers softly as Cas rubs his cheek into his hand.

Castiel opens his eyes and looks into Dean's with a small, hesitant hint of a smile, gratitude in his eyes, and that alone makes it worth putting up with the diabetic, unholy archangel.

Sam clears his throat loudly, ruining the moment.

"You guys either make out or let's call Gabriel," he says. "Just quit the staring, please."

"Whiny bitch," Dean smirks, and presses a kiss to Cas' mouth just to get a point across (and because he can't stay sane without kissing those full lips at least once every few hours).

Sam mimes gagging, cutting his throat and flushing an imaginary toilet.

His girly brother from the beginning was more than on board with Dean and Castiel being together, and while Sammy's happy blessing sure is welcome, Dean could do with a little less bragging about how Sam 'always knew' and how it was 'so obvious' and all that crap. Sam doesn't have a problem with some affection displays until they get to making out, and past that point he has two rules – 'not in front of me' and 'not on my bed, please'. Which is why they sometimes get separate rooms, and when they do that, Sam makes a point of ensuring there is at least one room between his and theirs – he says he has no desire for porn surround sound when he's trying to sleep.

Dean pulls away from Castiel, smirking slightly at how his angel blinks a few times to get rid of a glaze in his eyes, pupils a bit dilated.

"Alright, let's get this over with," he says, sitting at the table on a chair that looks least wobbly, and looking at Castiel.

Cas has some more consideration for the needs of others.

"Sam, are you ready?" he asks, and Sam gives a small smile at his thoughtfulness.

"Sure."

Castiel closes his eyes, frowning slightly in focus, apparently searching for Gabriel's grace, and lingers for a moment, before opening his eyes again. Simultaneously, the air shifts, filling with a flutter of large wings, and Castiel knowingly turns to the archangel now lounging on Sam's bed, rolling what sounds like a piece of hard candy in his mouth.

"Took your time," he criticises with a lazy smirk, hands tucked under his head in a relaxed pose.

"What's that 'business' you mentioned?" Dean asks, not particularly eager to prolong the visit.

"Straight to the point, Deano," Gabriel makes a shooting gesture with his thumb and index finger. "Alright then. You guys are hunters. I want to hire you to hunt."

Dean puffs out a snort.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks, frowning with a small, humourless smile.

Gabriel shrugs.

"Since when do angels – let alone _arch_angels – need help hunting?" Sam also has some trouble digesting what he'd just heard.

"Not usually, but it's not really some creature I want you boys to gank, I can do that by myself…"

"Then what is it?" Dean demands.

Gabriel takes a moment, surveying the brothers with a smirk.

"How do you boys feel about treasure hunting?"

There's a beat of stunned silence as two pairs of green eyes blink at the archangel, while a blue set remains pensive and slightly narrowed. Then, Dean is the first to recover and speak again.

"Is this some TV land thing again?" he asks suspiciously. "I mean, seriously – _treasure hunt_?"

Gabriel huffs, rolling his eyes as he sits up on Sam's bed, swinging his legs over the edge, and he seems to lose some of the chipper façade. Sam thinks he looks reluctantly goaded into taking this thing more seriously.

"More like a heavenly artefact," he finally says. "Angelic, actually – that appeal more to your angel kinks, Deano?" he smirks, and Dean shoots him a death glare as his face flushes red.

"I don't believe it is wise to antagonize someone whose help you need, brother," Castiel speaks, simultaneously placing a calming hand on Dean's shoulder, and Sam hands it to him that he's good at diffusing conflicts like these. Gabriel just rolls his eyes again, but he seems to comply with his younger brother's words.

"Fine. Do you two muttonheads know what an astrolabe is?"

"Yeah," Sam answers levelly with a nod, while Dean looks like he's thinking very intensely, so he takes mercy on his brother and elaborates, pretending to expand his response to Gabriel. "It's an inclinometer, used for navigation based on stars, they can be quadrants or circular, in which case they're made of several parts."

"Give the boy an A+!" Gabriel grins. "And glad you mentioned the circular ones, because that's the treasure I want you two boys to hunt down…See, a couple million years ago, there was one very special astrolabe made. It consisted of five pieces – that is one base and three discs with a rule – and was disassembled, each piece thrown into a different part of world, so now they are located on five different continents."

"Wait, a couple million years ago?" Sam asks dubiously.

"Yeah, a little more than that. That astrolabe was made by my and Cassy's dear old Dad, and when assembled, it revealed something more than just navigation, it contains a set of guidelines with the help of which the tablet of angels can be found."

A beat of silence falls in the room, and through the rapidly growing, cotton-like shock wrapping itself around his brain, Sam feels there is something wrong, something very, very wrong with the logic of what Gabriel is saying here…

"So… wait, you want to actually _find_ that shit?" Dean connects the dots first this time.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel's gravelly voice sounds before Gabriel takes in a breath to reply. Cas turns to look at the archangel again. "Because Crowley has found out about it too, hasn't he?"

Gabriel nods, his face growing a little more serious.

"It's five pieces. He hasn't found any of them yet, but I happen to know one of them is on this continent, so if you three stooges can get a hold of it, no one will ever have the complete astrolabe. Especially after we destroy our piece."

"How come you need _us_ to find it?" Dean narrows his suspicion-filled eyes, glaring at the archangel in an intense and prolonged way Sam seriously suspects he's picked up a little from Castiel.

Gabriel sighs, his shoulders dropping, and he's clearly not very pleased with what he's about to say.

"Because it shan't be sought by any one of overlords," he puts on a grandiose tone as he quotes something. "I'm an archangel, which is a kind of an overlord, so I can't look for it. It's impossible for me to find. The good news is, Crowley is something of an overlord in his own nook and cranny, so he's not able to personally look for that either. He'll be using some of his minions. So I figured, I should use mine," he grins.

Castiel looks a bit nettled, but he keeps it to himself. Dean rolls his eyes and looks like he's about to pick a pointless argument, but Cas manages to wordlessly influence him again. Sam ignores them and tries to focus on milling through the information.

If they find the astrolabe piece, Gabriel can destroy it or hold on to it or whatever, which means the astrolabe will never be assembled, which means it won't be able to point the way to the angels tablet. The idea that the item is an astrolabe freakishly makes sense, since angels are made of pure concentrated light and all that.

"And you're sure we can destroy it?" he asks, uselessly trying to pin down Gabriel's attention with his gaze.

"Don't you worry, Sammykins, I'll take care of everything," Gabriel winks at him in a way that's probably meant to reassure but does nothing of the sorts.

"And that'll… stop the whole closing Gates of Heaven deal with the angel tablet?" Dean asks, tightly gripping his beer bottle still set on the table.

Gabriel looks slippery.

"No, not exactly. That's just gonna keep the tablet hidden. But there are other ways to find it. So I'll be doing a bit of treasure hunting of my own, to have a contingency plan in case the tablet does get found."

"What's that?"

Gabriel is looking up, taking a breath, clearly stringing together some very imaginative phrase, but Castiel gets to the explanation before him.

"He's talking about the Horn of Gabriel."

* * *

**Hope you liked it :) I had fun writing it.**

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	3. The gameplan

**Sorry for the small delay! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

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**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sam legitimately splutters and doesn't even care. Because – Horn of Gabriel? As in, end-of-the-world Horn of Gabriel? _The_ Horn of Gabriel? His brain just shuts down for a moment as he tries to process what he just heard.

Dean is more vocal.

"Are you _serious_?!" he bursts out. "The whole closing-the-Gates-of-Heaven isn't big enough deal for you? You wanna play the Judgment Day hit tune, too?!"

Gabriel looks at him condescendingly, the rolls his eyes, slumping forward in over-staged exasperation.

"It's an instrument, bonehead, it can actually play more than one melody. Anyway, I take it you boys are on board with the astrolabe search," he clasps his hands together like a hopeful magician during a cruise show, beaming at the three of them. "Good luck with that, Cassy, please keep me posted as you move, I'll pop in on you guys to survey progress. I'll get busy with my own treasure hunt then."

"But why do you-" Sam starts, but is cut off as, with a shift of candy-smelling air, Gabriel is gone. "-need to search for the Horn…" he finishes in a resigned tone, and sighs.

"Gabriel has lost it," Castiel announces into the silence, and with such solemnity that Sam thinks he might not mean his words in the most popularly understood way.

Dean snorts.

"You got that right," he huffs and takes a sip (or a gulp) of his beer.

Cas tilts his head, fixing that focused, narrow-eyed, soul-reading look on Dean, and Sam clearly can see the confusion in the angel's gaze as he obviously cannot decipher what Dean had meant by his reply.

"I am talking about the Horn," he clarifies in a cautious tone that almost makes Sam chuckle, and he startles a little when Cas turns to him. "I was answering your question that Gabriel did not stay to hear out – he needs to look for the Horn, because he has lost it. He doesn't know where it is currently."

"How come?" Dean frowns.

Castiel sighs and relocates a little, leaning back against the edge of the table so he can more or less face both brothers. His eyes are focused again, with that faraway look that he sometimes gets when he talks about Heaven and history and angelic matters, all of which Sam really enjoys listening to. Even when the news is bad, there's something captivating about listening to those tales, being shown a glimpse of that world, incomprehensible for humans.

This time, it seems that again the story isn't a particular favourite of Cas' (then again, he rarely seems to enjoy talking about his family, not that Sam needs to ask why…), and Sam can see Dean looking at the angel with complete attentiveness and some budding concern. It's cute, and he's almost suicidal enough to mention it out loud. Almost.

"Gabriel had received the horn from God, and the most famous reason for it, was to blow it to announce the Judgment Day," Castiel starts to a synchronised nod of confirmation that he receives after the first sentence. "It is an important task, and Gabriel dutifully carried the Horn with him, for a time. But when the angels began feuding, he left, like he told you. When he did, he hid the Horn from everyone, including himself."

"But why?" Sam asks, not understanding.

"Scratch that, how can you hide something from _yourself_ when you're a friggin' archangel?" Dean asks gruffly.

"Exactly as you said, he's an archangel," Castiel replies. "He has the power to do that. And he hid it, because he loved our family too much."

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean grumbles, finishing his beer.

Castiel looks at him with a small frown.

"Heaven knows no love like Gabriel's," he announces sternly and earnestly, and Sam can tell he firmly stands by every word he says. "He always was the most loving of the four archangels, the kindest and willing to forgive. And he loved us all so much that it's because of this love that he ran away from Heaven. His love was so great that it couldn't stand to see the fight between the angels, and he left. He loved so much that he broke his own heart."

This time, Dean says nothing, just gives a small grunt of acknowledgement and walks across the room to throw the empty bottle into the bin. Because both Winchester brothers sure are acquainted with the whole 'love hurts' deal.

* * *

It's early evening, and they spend the rest of it in the motel, planning to move on the next day. Sam uses the opportunity to start up on the astrolabe research, and it would be nice if he had some help from Dean, or maybe Cas, but no. Dean puts himself in charge of bringing food for the night, taking 'his angel' along, and Sam knows he'll get his meal in two hours at best, even if the diner is a ten minute drive away.

True to Sam's last-few-weeks-old experience, Dean and Castiel return with the styrofoam-boxed food two hours and twenty minutes later, looking slightly ruffled, and Sam tries his best not to let the hickey on his brother's neck spoil his appetite.

Dean tucks into his food, glancing at Sammy who's engrossed in his research. Personally, he thinks the whole thing can wait till the next day, and apparently Cas is with him on this one, because he's watching TV – _Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends_ is on, and Cas claims the idea appeals to him extremely. When it comes to TV, Cas is like a wolverine – he'll digest anything. He has his favourites, of course – he's amused by the QVC, enjoys an occasional sci-fi (Dean has a personal sense of pride stemming from the fact he'd gotten his angel into the original _Star Trek_ series), will stare at horrifyingly boring golf games (maybe lethargy is a good thing for angels, or maybe he's fascinated by pointlessness of a game where you could shove the ball into the hole by hand), and since being introduced to cartoons, he likes to watch some. Schooling him on classic Disney productions was actually fun (though he was very emotional through the _Hunchback of Notre Dame_), the Cartoon Network sprees can be tolerated, but when Cas got into _My Little Pony_, Dean had to draw the line.

When he's done with the food, he again checks up on Sam who's slowly but rhythmically going through one of his grassy meals, eyes glued to the laptop screen, and decides that Sammy is doing fine, not looking like he needs help. Because he knows his baby brother would throw a bitch fit if he joined Cas to watch TV (and because he's not up for a 9-year-olds repertoire), he rummages a little through his duffel bag and pulls out a thick and worn notebook stuffed with loose paper sheets, picks up a pen and sits down at the table again, followed for a moment by a pleased look from Castiel.

Recently he's taken up learning Enochian. Yep, Dean Winchester is willingly embracing some demanding education that is not dictated by need of survival. Although it sure would help increase chances of said survival. And lucky him, he's got a native speaker on hand whenever he wants, so why the hell not?

Castiel from the beginning was pleased with the idea. When, looking down and shuffling his feet a lot, Dean mumbled his request, trying to fight off a blush, Cas looked so freaking adorably pleased that Dean felt this was the best damn idea he's ever had in his lousy life. (Well, maybe apart from pulling his head out of his ass and getting together with his angel.)

Turns out, Enochian is more complicated than any human language. Most of the things Cas mentions, Dean doesn't get, but Cas says not to worry. It is, apparently, impossible to teach a human the actual, full extent of Enochian, but Cas had promised he would teach Dean that what is possible, and, with time, Dean would be able to put together his own sigils. Now _that_ is certainly a nice perspective, and it's Dean's carrot when he feels like giving up because his small human brain can't get this stuff.

There are more letters in Enochian than the internet and books say there are, and the texts are written in some really freaky ways. Apparently, angels consider the classic, linear writing boring or passé or something. Dean's seen it all now – circles, zigzags, lines of text crossing each other up and down or cutting in diagonally…

Honestly though, it feels nice sometimes. There's some peace in this focus, in methodically doing some painstakingly precise and thorough work. It's a bit like fixing his Impala – no rush, precision, every move is important. Every action makes sense. Every action builds something. Improves something. He likes it, this feeling of concentration, it makes him feel very… _composed_ when he's done. Like something had settled down inside his brain.

There's that and… he also maybe, kinda, feels a little like he's getting to know something that Cas knows and does. It's nice. And Cas looks so pleased that he can teach Dean something, instead of being taught about humans, and giving one-time information about some hunts.

Time ticks, Dean wrestles the happy craziness of Enochian letters, Sam clicks and occasionally types on his laptop, Castiel romances with the TV. Eventually, Sam leans back in his chair, lifting his hands and stretching his gigantor body back with a long groan.

"Got anything?" Dean glances up at him, and rubs his eyes, because for a moment he can swear the brackets on Sam's festive cowboy shirt look like some Enochian letters. He's been at this crap a bit too long.

"No, not that much…" Sam slowly scratches the back of his head. "Just some leads…"

"Hm," Dean says supportively. He hates the first stages of research. _Hates_ 'em. It's all about going slowly in circles and bumping into walls – no, thanks.

Despite Dean's sympathetic response, Sam looks like he's sucking on a lemon.

"You know, I think I'd have gotten somewhere if I had some _help_," he bitches, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like, from my brother. Or from an _angel_!"

Castiel looks up from the screen and has the same look on his face that Sammy does when Dean asks what the hell happened to the last beer in the fridge.

"I was contemplating possible lines of searching, but thought it would be more beneficial if I didn't suggest your own research," he replies smoothly – well, as smooth as Cas can ever be. "This way, we might produce more possibilities instead of focusing on one."

Sam looks like he's trying to decide if he should believe this, or has his brother finally taught the angel of the lord to lie, and Dean has to admit he's not sure if Cas is bullshitting or not.

"Right…" Sam finally says carefully. "Well, what do you got?"

"There is a searching ritual that can help us find the general area in which the astrolabe piece is located. I have no guarantee it will work, since the astrolabe is so powerful and ancient, but we can try."

"Well, great, let's get to it," Dean rubs his hands together. He loves it when the theorising turns into acting.

"We have to wait till the new moon," Cas puts the damper in the mood.

"That's almost two weeks away," Sam sighs with disappointment, and Dean doesn't even find it weird that his geeky brother knows exactly when the next new moon is gonna be.

"Which is why I thought we should also use your research," Cas explains a little too innocently, and the suspicious look is back on Sam's face. Dean hides a small chuckle – his angel sure is good at screwing with people, even if he doesn't always know he's doing it.

"OK., then we'll go with the leads I got until the new moon, and then we'll do the searching spell," Sam decides, closing his laptop. "Dibs on the shower," he treacherously runs towards the bathroom just as Dean thinks about doing the same.

Soon both brothers are ready for bedtime, while Castiel is seated at the table, reading a book.

"Night, Cas," Dean says, hand over the light switch.

"Goodnight, Dean, Sam."

Dean smiles a little, looking at Cas for just one moment longer, before flipping the switch and turning the room so dark he has to grope for his way to his bed. He lands on the mattress with an exhausted sigh, puts his head on the pillow, waits for it… and there it is, the sound of a page being turned. He grins to himself in the darkness. For some reason the fact that, not needing light at all to be able to see, Castiel sometimes stays reading on in the darkness, makes him chuckle. He doesn't know why, there's just something cute and funny about it.

Since neither Dean nor Sam really fancy trying to fall asleep with a staring angel hovering over their beds, Castiel has to occupy himself somehow during the night, ever since permanently joining the hunting team. Sometimes he reads, and just as often he leaves to carry on with his penance and redemption – helping people and animals, apparently usually spreading the angelic goodness around the daytime hemisphere. And sometimes, though rarely, at some point in the night, he climbs into bed with Dean. Apart from the times he and Cas take a separate room and share the bed more actively, of course (and, for the record, post-sex sleeping Cas is goddamn beautiful).

Dean closes his eyes and counts the pages turning in soft silence. When Cas has read twenty five (he's a damn fast reader, angel eyes and all that), Sammy stops tossing and turning, his breathing evens out and he snores a little every now and then. On the thirtieth page Dean can hear Cas closing the book and getting up from the table, approaching.

The next moment, he feels the mattress dip under new weight, and he feels Cas crawling up to lay down beside him, and with a small smile he opens his arms, inviting his angel. His smile widens a little when he cracks one eye open, pulling Cas close – he's dressed only in a white T-shirt and black boxers. The first time Dean convinced Castiel to try to take a nap with him, dude clambered up into bed in dress shoes, trench coat and all.

Apparently, angels _can_ sleep, strictly speaking, they just don't do it usually. Or Castiel doesn't. Dean had felt like he'd just climbed Mount Everest without oxygen support when he finally managed to convince Cas to try sleeping, just for kicks. After several times, his angel informed him that he does enjoy sleep from time to time, but only in his company. Dean thinks this is the best conclusion Cas could have reached. And he's smug about it.

Castiel takes a while settling down, making himself comfortable and moulding into Dean's side, pressing a slow but small kiss on his lips, before laying his head on Dean's chest, and shifting a little for a few more moments. Dean has to bite his lip not to chuckle, because it always makes him think of nesting, and he's pretty sure he would be smote if he asked Cas if angels have nests.

Finally, Castiel settles, and Dean smiles, nuzzling his head a little, the black strands tickling his nose, before he places his hand on Cas' head, stroking slowly, sleepily, and eventually stilling. He can feel Cas' breath warm his chest in a peaceful rhythm, and somehow this sensation relaxes him completely.

He lifts his head off the pillow and brushes his lips over Cas' hair, and lies back down, pulling him a bit closer. Cuddling Cas is like cuddling a very fluffy ball of lightning. It's very calming and warm, but at the same time, when he focuses just a little more, he can _feel_ that incomprehensible power thrumming through Castiel, the reminder that he is an angel, an incredibly powerful being, and infinitely dangerous if he so chose. Dean likes it, this contradiction that isn't really a contradiction – it's Cas, both parts of his nature.

Dean knows about the tacky angel figurine his mother bought for some reason she couldn't explain and put it over his bed. While it's sort of a nice memory, he much more prefers the life-sized angel _in_ his bed.

* * *

The next morning it's an early wakeup ("Please tell me you guys _didn't_ when I was asleep right next to you!"), quick breakfast and being back on the road. And moods are better than they have been for a long time. Because, hey, they have a shot at keeping the angel tablet safe, an annoying but useful-ally archangel is back from the dead _and_ promising a backup in case the shit hits the fan, and the weather is nice. So Dean puts on one of his favourite tapes and sings along while Sam and Cas play one of their nerdy games they sometimes do on the road – it's battleship this time, and Sam, who is a sore loser in brain-teasing games, begins to mumble that Cas must be using angel mojo to see where he has his ships. Dean tells his kids to play nice together, for which he gets a bitchface.

They head back east and also north, following the trail of a book Sam found that mentions a _divine astrolabe_. Putting a couple hundred miles back just so that his baby brother can flip through an old book feels wrong somehow, but if it can help save their asses, then Dean's going to comply. And it sure as hell beats sitting around, twiddling their thumbs waiting for the new moon to do the locating spell.

The stop-over for food is quick. Cas, even though now somewhat convinced about sleeping, still isn't eating anything, but Dean notices him slipping a small, sealed plastic packet of honey into his pocket as they leave. Ever since his crazy spree, Cas seems to have some occasional glimpses of residual fondness for honey and other bee things. Dean chuckles, throwing an affectionate arm around Castiel's shoulders as they head back to the Impala across the parking lot, and his angel responds with a small, almost a little embarrassed smile.

When at last they reach the town, it's so late at night that the only thing they can do is wake up an unhappy motel owner, check in, bear a judgmental look given to three guys taking one room with two beds (true, it must seem a little weird, especially since the beds are queens) and squabble a little about the showering order, Castiel distancing himself from the conflict.

"Right," Dean emerges from the bathroom, unsuccessfully trying to dry his hair with a towel that Sam's long princess locks left almost completely damp. "So the book is in a private collection…"

"Vincent Jones, he's a lawyer with a thing for geographical discoveries and history of navigation… the book is from 1700s," Sam explains.

"Good. So all we gotta do, is make sure the guy leaves for a couple hours, Cas can zap himself into the house and open the door for us from the inside, so we don't have to pick locks in broad daylight," Dean sketches a quick plan, throwing himself back on the bed he'd claimed earlier.

"First we gotta see if he lives alone," Sam points out. "When I was looking him up online, I didn't find out if he has a family. Then we'd probably have to con them out of the house somehow."

"Great."

This time, Cas leaves for the night. He doesn't say where he's going, but Dean knows – to carry on helping those who need help. His penance. But Dean thinks it's more than that, it's not just some chore or trying to buy himself back onto the 'good' side. He thinks it's something that makes Castiel feel better, like he's not only atoning, but also doing something _more_, something new and something that stands on its own. He seems more internally balanced when he comes back from those trips. Like he's sad about his past deeds and about how much misfortune is in the world, but also relieved and calmed by doing something about it, in the smallest, but also the greatest of ways. Saving one person's world is saving a whole world, Dean thinks as he lies in bed, and it sounds stupid and sort of naïve, but somewhere, deep down inside, he knows it's true and it _makes sense_.

He doesn't know when exactly he'd dozed off, but the next thing he knows he feels something soft hitting his head, startling him to see the room is filled with daylight.

"Wake up, loser, you're drooling," Sammy informs him lovingly as he heads to the bathroom, and Dean scrambles up into a half-sitting position, pushing his own yesterday's T-shirt off his face, and sleepily casting a cross-eyed glance at the pillow to verify his brother's charge.

"Bitch," he calls out on a slightly belated reflex, when the tacky bathroom door is already shutting closed behind his brother, but he can still catch the customary 'Jerk!' response.

He sits up completely, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and groans, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hey, Cas, you coming?" he asks into the empty room, knowing his voice will reach his angel wherever he is. Kinda cool.

"Hello, Dean," the familiar, gravelly greeting sounds just beside him a second later, and he gives a small smile, looking up at his angel.

"Hey," he responds, reaching up, and pulls Castiel to sit on the bed beside him. Cas complies and just stays there, hands on lap and looking half-expectant, as always managing to look a little awkward and adjusted at the same time, like a plant put in a new place. "Oh, man, you're adorable," Dean chuckles, still a bit sleepily, to himself, and leans in to kiss his angel on the lips. It's short and light and warm, and feels like a summer morning, and Dean enjoys it very much. It feels _right_.

The corners of those deliciously full lips twitch into a small smile as Dean pulls away, and there is that calmly happy spark in those blue eyes.

"Listen, we're gonna be setting up the gameplan," Dean informs, getting up to take over the bathroom when Sam's happy reign there comes to an end, and he affectionately runs a hand through Cas' black hair. "We'll probably do some recon on the lawyer and see if we can grab an opportunity to get to the book today."

"Hey, Cas," Sam greets as he heads to his bag and pulls out a pack of rice cakes – figgin _rice cakes_ – and gets some head start on the breakfast. Cas just looks to the TV and the screen turns itself on.

Sam sits beside Castiel as the angel surfs channels, and they watch a couple of minutes of a programme about Triassic dinosaurs, Cas pointing out a few mistakes, but thoughtfully commenting that, in the case of the colours, it indeed is impossible for humans to verify their guesswork. Sam smiles and thinks that perhaps this is why Cas likes the more silly shows so much – it must be something new for him, an abstract, something so very human. It's probably not much fun for him to watch history films that show things he's seen and remembers correctly, without lies and misconceptions formed over time. Though he seems to sometimes enjoy pointing out those mistakes. And Sam sure is always interested to hear how it all really happened.

Dean gets out of the bathroom, pulling on his Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and demands they get something to eat, and their planning is moved to the nearest diner.

"Right, so one of us keeps an eye on the lawyer's house for a while," Dean mumbles over a mouthful of pancakes.

"Dude, gross," Sam frowns, cutting his own pancakes neatly. Naturally, he's ignored.

"And if the guy lives alone…" Dean swallows a bite so big his eyes almost come out of their sockets. "…we come in when he leaves."

"What if he leaves just for a moment?"

"Dude, it's not hard to see when a lawyer is leaving for court, and that gives us at least an hour. And anyway, in case of an emergency, Cas can always zap us out with the book."

"Dean Winchester accepting to be zapped," Sam informs his own forkful of pancakes with a smirk.

"Hey, it's last resort," Dean grumbles back at him.

"And what if he has a family?" Sam prefers to have as many options secured in advance as possible. "Do we con them out of the house? That could take even two days to prepare."

"Well, if all else fails, we can get in at night, when they're sleeping, and Cas can angel-whammy them, right Cas?" Dean throws an arm around the angel, pulling him close and looking smug like he's the one able to make someone dead asleep with just a tap on the forehead.

"I… believe that could work, yes," Castiel agrees, looking a little awkward, probably because Dean is half-holding him at a somewhat uncomfortable angle.

"Good, then we're set," Dean contently releases Castiel and goes back to his pancakes, but if he thinks Sam can't see the way he's trying to discreetly pocket a small packet of honey, he's very obviously mistaken.

Sam thinks it's cute how Dean indulges Castiel's little habit, but of course Dean would never want to be accused of something so chick-flick.

"So who's gonna watch him?"

Sam usually considers himself a good strategist, but sometimes he really has his moments of self-doubt. Like, for instance, right now – bringing up the subject. From the small smirk and a smug look Dean gives him, he already knows how it's gonna end.

* * *

Yep. He should get in touch with Kevin about symptoms of being a potential prophet. Not only did he predict the outcome, but also more or less the conversation ("Why can't you do it?!" "I'm the one who came up with all the plans, I've done my share of work for today." "Yeah, but _I_ did all the research!" "Well, _I_ was learning Enochian!").

Sam sighs, prodding a pebble with his foot. His observation point is a bench on the calm street where the lawyer's house is located, and he has a newspaper to pretend he's a normal person just passing time. The house is empty for now, no cars in the driveway, so he sits around, waiting to see when someone returns. It's almost 2 pm, so he hopes something happens soon.

Dean and Cas have gone back to the motel, Sam managing to force out a promise they would do some more research, and while he doesn't trust Dean's assertions one bit, he trusts Cas' promise that they would do some work. Yeah, artefact hunting is harder than ghouls, poltergeists and strigas. They're easier to locate.

Speaking of which, he wonders how Gabriel is doing. Judging from his over a thousand years long history of posing as a Trickster after running away from Heaven, he's damn good at hiding things, so Sam wonders if he's going to be able to find the Horn. He was the one who hid it, after all, and he claims to have hidden it from himself as well.

Sam hopes he finds it. And that he shows it to them – he'd definitely like to see what it looks like. There are two most common depictions, and he wonders which one is correct.

To be honest, he's sort of… _glad_ that the pocketsize archangel is back from the dead. He's always had a feeling that he could be a powerful ally, and he hopes that now the opportunity has finally arrived. Gabriel hasn't maimed, pranked or transported them into any alternate realities yet, so for now it looks like he's called a truce. And offering a backup plan in case of the Gates of Heaven fiasco, feels like he might actually be on their side.

Sam did feel guilty about Gabriel's death. Hell, he still does – Gabriel faced Lucifer on his own, standing up to his family like they'd told him he should. And it got him killed. _By his own brother_. And he did that also to allow Dean, Sam and Kali to escape, he went against Lucifer knowing fully well that he has really high chances of not making it out alive.

Maybe Cas was right. Heaven knows no love like Gabriel's. Those words were buzzing around Sam's head ever since Castiel spoke them, and he doesn't really want to think about them more, but every now and then he does, a bit. It somehow makes sense, for some weird, inexplicable reason, it feels correct that Gabriel would be the most loving of angels, so much so that he was incapable of having his loyalties divided, and ran away. He's a Trickster and has a really lousy and mean sense of humour and doesn't seem to care much about anyone but himself anymore, but still – the way he, in the end, stood up to Lucifer… and the way he killed Naomi, the sheer depth of anger in his eyes when he realised she'd harmed Castiel… and the form of attachment and affection with which he addressed Cas. Yeah, there was love in it all, a lot of it. But it felt like Gabriel didn't want others to see it – the same way he seethed with cold rage when Dean pressed a sore spot back in the warehouse, after the whole TV land nightmare. It felt as if he didn't want to address the issue, but when pushed, be burst a dam.

Sam twitches, feeling startled when a car door slamms nearby, and he blinks repeatedly, realising he hadn't noticed when it drove up the yard of Jones' house. The driver is a woman, and she's opening the back door, smiling at a preschooler girl with a cheerful yellow backpack who stumbles out and runs towards the house in giggles.

With a sigh, Sam pulls out his mobile and selects Dean in his speed dial.

"'Sup, dude?"

"It's angel-whammy, Dean. He's got a wife and a kid," he informs, casting one last glance at the mother disappearing inside the house, and gets off the bench, leaving the newspaper behind.

"Damn. Alright, well, no big deal… we can go in tonight. Hey, since you're out – bring food on the way back, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam sighs and disconnects, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

The weather is nice and the town isn't a small village, but it's not big either – he can walk back to the motel, passing through the diner. The town really is nice, he thinks as he walks down the streets. The buildings are warm and bright in the summer sun, the sky is blue with a few fluffy clouds not hurrying anywhere, and there is a mild bustle on some sidewalks, occasional cars sliding almost lazily along the roads, and his stomach audibly responds to a sweet scent of sugar buns wafting from a nearby bakery. He always likes but also is upset by moments like these. He enjoys them because they're here, because it's nice to just take a stroll and be in a pleasant place, and he's simultaneously saddened, because they remind him he doesn't get to experience this often. In fact, it's the rarity that makes those moments enjoyable in the first place. And it's just wrong.

But for now, the moment is here, so he might as well give it a go, right?

Sam slows down as he walks along a street that holds a few shops – the cosy, small stores ran by their owners, the sort that fills smaller towns like this one. And there is one that stops him before the slightly tarnished display window – it's a shop filled with handmade journals and notebooks. Leather bound, old looking, some closed with clasps, others with embossed or engraved covers, piled up on the display. He's always liked this kind of thing.

There's an idea that has lately been lingering in the back of his head, ever since Dean gave Cas a journal about three weeks ago. It's a nice, leather bound one, pocket sized, but not small – just right to fit into one of the large pockets of the angel's coat, and on the almost shiny, brown front cover is meticulously scrawled the first letter Dean had learned to write in Enochian – the letter C. Cas loved the gift, naturally, and Sam thinks it's not only because Castiel would love pretty much anything Dean gave him, but mostly because Dean really gave it a lot of thought (not that the jerk would admit it out loud, of course). Cas never parts with it, and for the first few days he just took it out every now and then, handling it like some sort of a precious relic, turning the pages, slowly stroking the covers with his thumbs and just enjoying it.

And ever since then, Sam's been having an idea that, the longer he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. He pushes the door by a large brass knob, the hinges a little reluctant at first, but eventually giving in, and he walks inside. It's a small interior filled with a warm smell of sun-bathed dust and old paper and ink, and he likes the inside even more than the display. Most of the room is filled with a large table set up with more books, and behind it sits an old woman, her milky white hair done up into an old-fashioned bun, but a little loosened and neglected, which gives her a pleasant look. She smiles at Sam, and it's genuine in a way he can't remember being smiled at for a long time – apart from Dean and Cas who don't count because they're labelled 'family'.

"Hello, dear," she says in a voice like honey and sugar buns. Sam always wished he'd had a nice grandma who would have rosy cheeks, wear a kitchen apron and make delicious strawberry cupcakes.

"Hello," he smiles awkwardly and tries not to knock anything over as he moves towards the desk to look at more notebooks. They're all threaded, each different and made with care, and when he looks at the woman again, he sees that she's sewing together a folio of pages. "You make these?"

"Yes," the old woman chuckles. "That's ten years of my work you're looking at, dear."

One notebook catches his eye – it's just the right size, about half of a standard sheet of paper, with a cover made of light brown suede and filled with old looking pages of paper that's solid and durable despite not being thick. It almost feels like parchment. Yes, Sam is a bit of a geek, as Dean never tires of reminding him. Though Dean never says 'a bit'.

"Do you make custom engravings?" he asks, lifting the book.

"Yes. But it takes a bit… can you wait forty minutes, dear?"

"Oh – sure. Can I leave it and come back?"

"Naturally."

"Great. It'd like… this text written," he scribbles two words on a page of his pocket notebook he uses when impersonating FBI, and rips it out, passing it to the woman. "Some nice font, but classic… you pick something?" he's a bit embarrassed, but she smiles in a way that makes it go away.

He pays her in cash, with real money, which he doesn't do often.

* * *

**There you go :) Some large helping of destiel, since unfortunately next chapter won't have that much of it, much to my own dismay!**

**Ooh, by the way, the story just went blub-blub and it'll be longer than 5 chapters now. Hope it's good news :)**

**Please review! I cherish each every one of them, they help me to write on :)**


	4. Astrolabio divina

**Sorry, not much destiel in this chapter, but Gabriel is back :) And the next chapter will have plenty of fluff :D**

**I hope you enjoy it, I'm not entirely thrilled with how it came out. But I tried.**

* * *

"Something's touching my foot."

"It's me, bitch. Move over."

Sam grunts in a whisper, groping his way to the front door, tripping over a shrub, condemned with an, also whispered, curse from Dean somewhere behind. Apparently, lawyer Jones doesn't believe in garden lights at night, and has left the two brothers going around completely blind in the middle of the night. Come to think of it, it's an effective way to deter burglars, Sam thinks as he steps into something he can only hope is a cat food dish.

Finally, the front door opens, revealing an indifferent looking Castiel.

"Done," he informs then succinctly.

"Good man, Cas," Dean slaps a commending hand on the angel's shoulder as he walks past him into the house, Sam on his heels.

A moment later, without touching anything, Cas turns on the lights – they figured it would look less suspicious from the street than the shaky, sweeping beams from flashlights. Hence the recent stumbling in total darkness.

Dean follows without unnecessary hesitation as Castiel leads the way upstairs and into the study – it's not a big room, but the owner managed to find ways to display a small collection of compasses, maps and astrolabes on shelves and on the desk. There's also one of those dorky boat-in-bottle things.

"I got it," Sam announces, taking the book off a small easel propped up at the end of the long mahogany desk, and spreads it open with geeky reverence.

Dean scowls as they look over the table of contents, realising the book is in Latin – he's rusty with the language, and while Sam knows it considerably better, it still will take some time to get the text translated accurately.

"Astrolabio divina," Sam reads, and skims through the pages to hit the indicated one. "Uh… a fabled… no, a mythical astrolabe, astrolabe of mythical origin… references… stars… uh… no, divine road…" Sam stammers through the text, making that 'focused martyr' face, complete with the eyebrows pulled together, and Dean feels he's getting a headache just looking at his brother.

"It is an astrolabe of mythical origin, of a nature seldom recorded, and taking its references and directions from the _arche_ order of stars upon the firmament," Castiel's gravelly voice slips into a pause made by Sam, and Dean stares as his angel fluently and without indecisions reads the text. Right. Angels know all languages. Dean decides to blame his temporary dumbness fit on the late time of night. "As the stars were first created, so the astrolabe aligns with them and their original order, charting a path across the sky and unto the Gates of Heaven. Breathed with divine intent, it resides in the earth, hidden within a mark of each land."

Despite not being excessively impressed by old books and texts, Dean stands still, watching Castiel read and drinking in every word that falls from his angel's mouth. The way Castiel's voice recites the words is somehow spellbinding, as if bound with the time in which they were written, opening them into a full, complete understanding and knowing their entire meaning. It's neither grand nor monotonous, but flowing and precise and harmonious – that is how Dean usually imagines the celestial concept of perfection when he sometimes thinks about it.

Cas' always intense, all-seeing gaze is contemplatively focused on the text as his eyes slide over the old lines again, his lips moving a little as he whispers a few words, this time in the original Latin, and Dean feels a small electric charge pass through his body. For some reason, there's something really, really hot in the fact that Cas knows every language in the world, whether dead or still current, and hearing him speak Latin probably shouldn't get Dean slightly hot and bothered, but it does. Damn, is he turning into Sam?

"The text appears to have confused the ability to locate the tablet of angels with actually gaining access to Heaven," the slightly critical undertone of Cas' voice pulls him (at least partially) out of his reverie. "But, based on that mention, I think this indeed describes the astrolabe we're searching for. Or, a piece of which we're searching for."

"What's with the stars?" Dean asks, huddling closer to Cas to squint into the text. "It says… here, it mentions that 'original order' two times."

"Well, the Earth's view of the night sky and its constellations is steadily changing across the millennia, and it was already noted in the past, though attributed to other reasons," Castiel muses. "I think it may indicate that the astrolabe was made in reference to the stars as they were visible from Earth in the moment when the device was made."

"Which we don't know when exactly…" Sam mentions a little wryly.

"We don't need to, since we don't intend to use it," Dean points out with a small frown.

"Right. Well, I'd focus more on this bit," Sam taps a line. "The one about residing in earth. And mark of each land – what's that mean?" he frowns.

"I am not sure," Castiel sighs after a moment of thought. "We should analyse the text further and draw conclusions, but we need more time for that."

"Okay," Dean turns the page, makes sure there isn't a continuation of the text anywhere, and promptly rips out the paper sheet from the book.

"Dean!" Sam squawks like a peacock that just had his prime tail feather removed by surprise.

"What, one page missing isn't gonna kill the guy, but it sure can save us," Dean shrugs, which prompts forth a massive bitchface.

"It's an early 1700s book, dude, you just ruined a priceless volume!"

"Quit whining, I think saving the world's more important. Right, Cas?" he nudges his angel, because he needs some biased judgment to back him up.

Castiel makes a hesitant puppy face, looking from Dean to Sam for a slow moment, mouth open as he draws in a breath.

"I… think we should go, since we have obtained a way to study the text without stealing the entire book."

For a socially awkward dude capable of watching porn in a room full of guys, Cas sure is one sneaky diplomat, Dean thinks with a small grin, folding the old page in two. Sam huffs and snatches it from him, only one step short of cradling it to his chest like a wounded, small woodland creature.

They leave the house, Cas mojoing the lights off as they close the front door behind them and make their way back to the Impala parked a street away. The ride back is filled with Sam shooting reproachful bitchfaces at Dean, caringly nursing the page, while Cas remains stoically composed in the backseat, frowning and looking out the window, his sight able to effortlessly see into the darkness, but Dean thinks this isn't where Castiel is looking. His angel is looking somewhere far away, into a distance that feels immeasurable by human brain, and Dean thinks he must be going over the text in his mind, trying for solutions.

Back at the motel Sam spreads the page on the table, clearly thinking he's had his sleep in the evening and can go at it now. Outvoted by the fact that Cas doesn't even _need_ to sleep, Dean grudgingly pulls himself up a chair and slumps down, trying his best not to fall asleep and drool all over Sam's precious treasure.

"Right here, how you translated it?" Sam asks, tapping the last line of the text. "Hidden within a mark of each land? I think it might be a reference to the astrolabe being taken apart, like Gabriel said, and it somehow talks about each piece being hidden somewhere… any ideas what it means? Mark of each land?"

"That would be a mark of each of the five continents that have the astrolabe pieces," Castiel replies without missing a beat. "Mark of the land, I can only assume means something characteristic that marks each of those continents. But bear in mind it actually means what was characteristic for them at the time the astrolabe was made, several million years ago."

"Great… can _you_ tell us?" Dean asks, a little dubious, to be honest.

Castiel thinks for a moment, doing that trademark pensive frown of his.

"I can try to recall the topography of the terrain as best as I can, but I still need to know a more exact timeframe," he sighs. "I will ask Gabriel the next time we see him."

Sam is looking at the page again, thoughtful, and Dean can tell his little brother has found something interesting there.

"There's no illustration…" he murmurs thoughtfully. "The author didn't know what the astrolabe looks like."

"Well, I'm betting no one does, cause some assembly's required," Dean quips.

"Yeah, that, but… I still don't know – is it possible that someone's found our piece already and it's just sitting in some museum or private collection? Metal can't be carbon dated, so there's no way to actually establish just how old that thing is, so there wouldn't be any sensation about an astrolabe millions of years old."

"Sam has a valid point," Cas pronounces after a moment of contemplative silence, and Dean lets his forehead hit the table as he groans. "Dean, are you unwell?"

"Gee, I dunno," Dean mumbles into the suspiciously sticky surface. "I wanna go to sleep, and I seriously don't know which one I should be rooting for – digging random holes in the ground or looking through some museums. And we don't know where to look anymore, 'cause if it's in some dweeb's glorified junk collection, whatever we figure out of the whole landmark thing, won't be worth a shit."

There's a beat of pensive silence again, and Dean doesn't even need to look up to see what faces his angel and brother are making as they find the new optimistic icing on their cake of awesome luck.

"That is true," Cas assesses.

"Thanks, honey-bee."

"Uh… so what now?" Sam has that look of a dubious duckling peering out the nest and seeing the distance down to the ground.

"Well, how about we do this the smart way," Dean lifts his head off the table, sending Sammy a sneering look. "We wait, do the spell, and _then_ go museum hunting if it doesn't work."

After five minutes of near-argument Dean manages to victoriously carry through his motion to go to sleep, with a general resolution of waiting to perform the searching spell and starting worrying if it doesn't work. Sam proceeds to demonstratively carefully secure the page from the book, putting it into a file.

Dean doesn't know why he's feeling so tired as he strips down to his usual sleeping attire, but the crappy motel bed actually feels really nice as he buries himself in the sheets and covers, nuzzling into the pillow for a moment. He just wants to sleep, and it's really, really good to give into that.

The lights go out. Sammy murmurs the familiar goodnight.

Cas again leaves to continue with his penance.

Dean finds out he doesn't like sleeping alone anymore.

* * *

Castiel refuses to summon Gabriel, claiming it would be unwise to interrupt the archangel's quest for his Horn, so that leaves them forced to wait till he appears on his own. Sam locates a case in the neighbouring state, and it's back on the road, their treasure hunt temporarily put on hold. It looks like a classic salt-and-burn job, which is a welcome change from saving the world or wrestling higher-ranking demons. Or occasional angels, for that matter. The downside is, of course, looking through family histories, old newspapers and all that crap, but Sammy's always efficient at it, and heck, Dean sure will take this over battling an ancient text in a language he only half understands – half being a generous overestimate here.

What he can do without though, are the defeated returns from the library and brainstorming in the motel to come up with a new thread after their current one is snipped clean off.

"Okay, and this is the moment where I'd like to get back to the dog."

"Dude, the dog had nothing to do with it," Sam rolls his eyes so hard they almost get stuck that way. "A lot of dogs bark at things, it doesn't have to mean it's connected to the well."

"Dunno, Sammy – the old granny says the dog barked three nights in the row at the exact same time. I think it's reacting to the ghost. You're such an Animal Planet freak, you should know dogs are clever."

"Yeah, but it's not gonna tell us the story anyway, is it?"

"Cas could question it," Dean smirks, tipping up his beer bottle.

"Haha, like that cat in the old people's home, I know," Sam's anything but amused. He leans back in his chair with such impact that the rickety piece of furniture almost doesn't hold his sasquatch body. "I don't get it, no deaths in the well, no drowning, no traumatic events… why's the ghost so attached to it?"

Dean scrunches up his forehead as he thinks, milling over the question. Sammy is right – the case has a ghost attached to the old well that's in an old square of the small town they're staying at. The well is long out of use, but there's still water in it, and currently it's used more as a water corner moment, people stopping by to chat occasionally or kids playing. And lately a lot of kids were falling into the well, people feeling something cold and wet pull at their hair when they pass by it, and the shrubs around it died down.

"And nobody's seen the ghost," Sam carries on in an exasperated tone. "No visions of soaking wet kids or drowned people appearing out of nowhere…"

He thinks for a moment more, and just as he draws a breath to add another annoying inconsistency, a loud slosh sounds behind them. They whip around in their chairs, and Dean can't speak for Sam, but he personally feels two shakes shy of a massive brain injury or rapid onset of mental illness. His throat closes up and his mind goes blank for a moment.

Right in front of them, as if his ears were burning, stands Gabriel. And he's completely, utterly, soaking, sodden _wet_, drenched from head to toe, rivulets of water dripping from his hair and clothes, forming a quickly growing puddle on the mangy carpet beneath his feet.

Dean can't say who's screwing with them here – Gabriel or some sick coincidence of fate.

"Uh…" Sam produces an inarticulate sound after miming a goldfish for a moment. "Um… ah, Gabriel?" he asks slowly and tentatively. "What… what happened?"

The wet archangel looks at them as if going all lawn-sprinkler in the middle of their motel room is a daily occurrence.

"There you go," he unceremoniously tosses something onto the table.

The item bounces off the hard surface with a metallic, wet twang, splashing out some more water. Dean and Sam gape, staring at the irreverently treated object thrown between them. It's a musical horn. Wet, tarnished and slightly scratched, with some type of seaweed vine sticking out of the tube, but also very visibly golden and meticulously carved.

The Horn of Saint Gabriel the Archangel.

Sam tries to remember how the mechanism of breathing works, gets it wrong and tries again, not once taking his eyes off what is one of the most fabled, priceless and profound artefacts mentioned in biblical myths. The Horn of Gabriel, the final sound that will be heard across the world as it collapses in on itself, the instrument to bring the joining and association of the infinite with the finite and merge them into one reality, the mathematical paradox of Torricelli, and the divine instrument of Heaven.

"Here's your Plan B, muttonheads," Gabriel's voice slices into Sam's moment of awe. "You better deliver on Plan A."

The archangel is perfectly dry when Sam and Dean look at him again, and he's peering at them with a small smirk, hands in his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet. Remarkably, he doesn't seem so much pleased with himself as just casual, trying for nonchalance, and Sam wonders why does he get that impression.

"So where did you stash it, Sherlock?" Dean asks, clearly having recovered from the temporary shock.

Gabriel tilts his head at the angle that has to be trademark for angels and he cocks an eyebrow.

"In Atlantis, hence the deep-sea diving."

"Right. Atlantis," Dean says in a very soft tone he usually uses when trying to glide over the surface of something he really _doesn't_ want to get deeper into.

"So… it's real then?" Sam splutters, because hey – what kid didn't ever dream of uncovering the lost underwater empire?

"Sure it is, why do you think it sank in the first place?" Gabriel shrugs.

Sam's eyes return to the Horn on their own accord, still hungry and not having enough of the absolutely extraordinary sight.

"…May I?" he asks awkwardly, casting Gabriel a hesitant glance. He's not sure it's a good idea, it's not like the archangel is known for his kindness and giving people what they want, but still, the itching in Sam's fingers is stronger than reason.

To his surprise, Gabriel merely shrugs, his honey coloured eyes turning indifferent.

"Knock yourself out, kiddo."

The Horn is dry, too (and sans the seaweed) when Sam reverently picks it up, but still a bit tarnished. And it's definitely heavier than he'd expected, even for solid gold. The design also isn't something he'd been imagining, it doesn't at all resemble the two most frequently used depictions of either a long trumpet or a wavy, animal-horn-like creation. No, this one is more of a horn associated with classical music – it's looped, with a wide bell and small mouthpiece but, unlike typical horns of this sort, without any valves and slides. The loop itself is moulded into the form of a slender snake swallowing its own tail – ouroboros, the symbol of infinity and closed cycle.

Dean is impressed, of course. Hell, he's got a piece of the Judgment Day lying right in front of him, and it's a beautiful item, too. But seriously, he's getting concerned about Sam who ogles every inch of the instrument with star-struck eyes, reverently holding the thing and tracing an index finger over some ornaments in a way that clearly shouts he's barely holding himself back from groping.

There's a snap of fingers beside him, and he's developed a violently allergic reaction to the sound, whipping around instantly to find Gabriel seated at a free side of the table, sucking on a straw tucked into a mammoth-sized sundae overflowing with chocolate and whipped cream. Dean glances at his brother who's still pulling orgasm faces at the old trumpet, and clears his throat.

"Cas, uh… you wanna get down here?" even despite having done this countless of times, and despite the 'profound bond' thing that Castiel likes to mention every now and then, he still feels like an idiot when speaking to someone who's physically absent from vicinity. Especially when he does it in front of witnesses.

He waits a beat, eyes narrowing and eyebrows rising in unsure expectation as he slowly looks around the room, accompanied by the background noise of Gabriel blowing bubbles into his sundae. And then, sure enough, there is a soft beat of wings that shifts the air, leaving a faint scent of retreating thunderstorm glimpsing through.

"I have been carrying out my penance in a spare moment of the day so as to accommodate to your wish of not sleeping alone."

Dean wants to burn, preferably fast and painlessly. Beside him Sam is snickering, while Gabriel lets out an outright cackle, and Dean's face is so red he's pretty sure he could fry an egg on it. He hates those two hyenas, he hates them so very, very much…

Cas offers a belated notice of the company, and then his eyes land on the Horn still greedily nestled in Sam's hands.

"I see you have found it, brother," he remarks, and thankfully that pulls the attention away from the hitherto source of amusement. "That is fortuitous."

"Yeah, now it's your turn to dig up a treasure," Gabriel snaps his fingers and the remaining half of the sundae turns into a lavish chocolate cake that the archangel attacks gleefully with a spoon.

"We will need some information from you to aid us," Castiel replies, still standing where he appeared and taking no initiative to sit down, even though there was still one chair free at the table. A small smile tucks itself into the corners of Dean's lips as he looks at his angel – for some reason, he finds the whole thing endearing.

"Oh, I have to do everything, don't I?" Gabriel sighs dramatically and plucks a marzipan flower off the top of the cake. "Fine…" the archangel then glances at Sam. "Hey, Samsquatch," he leans in and flicks his finger at the bell of the Horn, producing a clang. "You with us?" he breaks Sam's disturbing focus on the instrument, and Dean thinks it's about time somebody did that, because Sammy looks like he's about to start licking the thing.

"Huh? Uh- yeah, sure. Sorry," there's a suspiciously pink tint on Sam's cheeks. "Uh… it's… heavy, heavier than gold," he frowns, weighing the Horn in his hands. "What's it made of?"

"Well, it's sort of a special kind of metal…" Gabriel leans back in his chair, hands behind head. "You don't get much of it around here… when it falls to Earth, you lot call it meteorites."

"Meteorites…!" Sam gasps, eyes bulging out at the artefact, and Dean seriously thinks the kid's about to come in his pants.

"Yeaaaaah… though that one never fell on Earth, Daddy plucked it right out of the sky to make a toy for his favourite kid," there's a cold mockery in Gabriel's voice, almost derisive, and Dean frowns, watching the archangel for a moment. Then, the being's demeanour instantly brightens up into cocky self-assurance. "So, what do you muttonheads need help with? You do remember I can't actually look for the thing, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Dean grumbles, reaching out and taking the Horn out of Sam's hands, and places it back on the table. Huh. It _is_ heavy.

"We need you to tell us what the astrolabe looks like – if you've seen it," Castiel explains, pinning Gabriel down with that tractor-beam blue gaze of his.

Gabriel makes a sheepish face that would have been sincere if it weren't for the spoon hanging off his nose.

"Sorry, bro…" he sighs, taking the utensil off. "I haven't seen it… it's written word, that's job of Metatron. I was the spoken word, so we kind of never hit it off too well… Mettie was always jealous, he wanted to be the messenger of Dad, but he doesn't match my people skills."

"Your people skills?" Sam asks dubiously, thinking about the alligator chow guy, the E.T. molested college kid and, oh, his own brother killed multiply in front of him.

"Hey, you try telling a young Jewish virgin 2000 years ago that she got knocked up without doing the deed!" Gabriel takes offense.

"…OK., fair enough."

"So, what have you muttonheads got planned?" Gabriel asks, taking a spoonful of the cake into his mouth.

"We will use a locating spell," Castiel replies. "And if it doesn't work, we will have to resort to slower and less effective measures…"

"Nah, it'll work," Gabriel waves an appeasing hand, annoyingly cocky smirk on his face. "You've got me, right? Cas-Cas, between you and me there's more than enough juice to make the spell work. And it doesn't count as me searching, so you guys should be able to dig up the thing when the spell is done."

"Okay," Dean actually smiles, pleasantly surprised. "Great, we're set then."

"Any ingredients we need for the spell?" Sam asks, knowing better than to take the good news for granted, without checking for small print.

"There is a list, yes, and most of them are easily obtainable by an angel," Cas confirms. "But there are a few that will require some additional work – the blood of a man resurrected, fearful tears of a second-born son, and a child's breath."

"Hey, no big deal," Dean shrugs cheerily. "For the blood thing either one of us here is good, unless it's human, so we're narrowed down to two, still enough. Fearful tears of a second-born son is easy, too, we just take Sammy to the circus, plop him down in the front row and wait for the clown act to roll in-"

"Shut up, jerk!" Sam grits his teeth, shooting daggers at his lousy brother, feeling his face flush hot.

"It's true, bitch. And the kid's breath, dunno, we can pass around balloons and ask kids to blow them up or somethin'."

Castiel nods, a small smile of appeasement gracing his face, and he looks like everything in his world just fell into the right place. Sam smiles along, but makes sure to still scowl when Dean catches his gaze.

* * *

Gabriel has decided to hang out, and nothing Dean tried saying managed to get them rid of the annoying, diabetic archangel. Apparently, he wants to spend some quality time with his little brother, and when Cas stabs Dean in the back by agreeing, there's really nothing more he can do but go about his own business, hearing tuned for the tell-tale, foreboding sound of finger snapping.

So far so good, but it's only been like half an hour. And anyway, it's not like he'd have the heart to insist on getting rid of Gabriel (as if any of the three of them actually had the power to do it) when Cas put on that quietly happy look at the idea of being around the only _actual_ brother he's got left. Right now, Gabriel is the only angel that's still on the good side, and Dean can tell how happy Cas is to have his big brother back. He wouldn't stand those kicked puppy eyes if he insisted on throwing Gabriel out.

Out of lack of anything better to do, he reviews the case notes. There's something nagging at him, and he wants to get to the bottom of this, his hunter instincts flaring up and prompting him to keep on digging till he hits jackpot.

Cas and Gabriel are seated at the table, playing some weird angel game, and Sam stands and watches under the pretext of being on the way to get a beer from the fridge. The sasquatch is trying to get the game, but if the focused pout is anything to go by, he's not having much luck. Yeah, Dean had tried to follow, too, but he gave up pretty quickly – the game involves twenty-two tiny pebbles, eleven white and eleven light blue, scattered on the table in some mysterious pattern, and the two angels sit on opposite sides, just looking at them, and, without being touched, the pebbles occasionally change places. It's like some demented chess game where no one can tell who plays which pieces.

It's nice though, Dean thinks, laying down on the bed and kicking his feet up on his bag, browsing the notes and stealing an occasional glance at his brother and angel. And his angel's brother (well, they say there's one in every family…). Really, really nice. No pressure for now, just a good old hunt, a spare moment and all of them together, alive and well. These moments are rare, and it's unfair as fuck, and because of that Dean clings to them for all they're worth. Yeah, it's pathetic, but he doesn't care.

He smiles, watching the focused frown on Sam's forehead deepen, making him look like a pensive otter as the cogs of his big-ass brain whirl to figure out the game on the table. Whatever's up with the pebbles, Gabriel seems to be losing, because he's drumming his fingers, shooting an unfavourable glance at Castiel and simply crunching down the piece of hard candy he has in his mouth. Cas is doing that brilliant thing where he's sitting all poker-faced, but a small, tiny shadow of a smirk creeps into the corners of his lips and into his eyes.

Another pebble vanishes off the table, and Gabriel looks up at Cas, jaw dropping in outraged surprise.

"Oh, you suck, little brother!" he accuses petulantly, snapping his fingers and disappearing the entire game.

Cas leans back, looking pleased.

"Since you have lost five out of six rounds, I believe this vernacular is better suited to you than me in this situation," he remarks, to which Gabriel throws out his tongue at him.

Dean snickers contently from his comfy spot on the bed, smirking as the archangel's sulky eyes meet his own. And really, he should have known better. There is a snap of fingers, and everything Dean has on himself is suddenly turned bright, vibrant pink. _Including_ his fingernails.

"Gabriel!"

Sam unceremoniously bursts out laughing, holding his stomach and doubling over as Dean flails and struggles on the bed, trying to remove the jacket, but magically unable to do it.

"The hell, you sick bastard, turn it back!" Dean demands angrily, only to find a large Hello Kitty logo on the front of what, until now, used to be his favourite ACDC T-shirt.

Gabriel cackles, joining Sam in the laugh fest, while Castiel gives them a disapproving look – at least there's _one_ person Dean can trust to get the right view of things!

"Brother, you are childish," he admonishes.

"Never said I wasn't," an evil smile stretches across the bloody archangel's face, eyes glinting.

"Dean, you… you…" Sam wheezes among laughing fits. "Your hair… y-r hair's pink too!" and he collapses.

Dean screams and lunges at the Trickster, but Castiel catches him halfway through and holds him back.

"Lemme go, Cas!" Dean snarls, trying (fruitlessly, yeah, he knows) to rip himself out of his angel's hold and (also fruitlessly – again, he knows) tackle the archangel. "You douche, are you still trying to kill me?!"

Since Gabriel is still only performing a cackle duo with Sam, Castiel touches Dean on the forehead, all the pink instantly disappearing from his person. Gabriel promptly pulls the face of a whiny kid in sweets store who just heard he has to pick only three treats out of the ten he put in the basket.

"Spoilsport," he grumbles, while Dean's treacherous ass-clown of a brother tries to heave himself off the chair onto which he sank in fits of laughter, wiping tears off his face.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean growls at Sammy, instinctively running a hand through his hair and looking it over. No pink dust or any freaky residue. He then turns to his angel and nods. "Thanks, Cas," he pats him on the back.

He'd really rather thank his angel with a kiss and maybe something more, but Gabriel is in the room. Damn him. But Castiel doesn't seem to mind, offering a small, appeasing smile to Dean.

In his chair, Sam grins, having finally caught his breath, and watches his still somewhat bristled-up brother, grinning, sneaky Gabriel and calm but definitely positive Castiel. Team Free Will, he thinks contently, remembering the meaningful name Dean once unceremoniously slapped on their little misfit trio.

He wonders if it could become a quartet.

* * *

**There :) I hope you enjoyed it :)**

**You can see how the Horn looks by clicking on the cover of the story, I did a quick manip in Photoshop :)**

**And please review, reviews stimulate muses! And they're like the petrol in my story's car. *Castiel puppy eyes* And I have piiiiieee :D**


	5. Compendium Angelorum

**I'm so sorry for the delay! But at least this chapter is longer as compensation :)**

**I hope you enjoy it, I had so much fun writing it! And a lot of Destiel happening here!**

**Reviews are beloved :D**

* * *

The shirt, suit and trench coat are such permanent traits of Castiel's image that even the smallest change stands out like a bruise on skin. And that is probably why the first thing Dean notices when seeing Cas in the morning, is that his blue tie is the right side on and covered in jovial yellow ducks.

The gulp of coffee stops halfway down his throat and his eyebrows shoot up, eyes magnetically glued to the anomaly, backside rested against the cupboard in the kitchen area, coffee mug held tight in a frozen hand. Castiel watches him back, some confusion slowly misting his face as he frowns, tilting his head in that pensively puzzled way, before his eyes drop, following wide-eyed Dean's gaze.

"Oh," falls from Dean's angel's lips almost indifferently as he notes the small change in his ensemble.

"What happened?" Dean asks, almost afraid to hear the answer, because a few minutes ago, when he left a still snoozing Cas in bed to get himself some coffee, his angel was still in the customary sleeping outfit of boxers and a tee.

Castiel purses his lips for a brief moment.

"Gabriel…" he starts, and Dean doesn't need to hear anything more, raising an appeasing hand.

"Got it," he nods, and can't stop a small smile from crawling onto his lips. Cas looks bloody ridiculous. Dean tries to keep it together, oh hell does he try!

Castiel frowns, still examining the tie, as if he found some mildly unexpected botanical curiosity sprouting up in his flowerbox.

"It appears my brother is even more of a sore loser than I though," he muses, and Dean finally releases a small laugh. His angel looks up, and through the confusion on his face, glimpses some contentment at seeing Dean amused.

Dean grins, breathing one more chuckle, and reaches out a hand.

"C'mere, angel," he coaxes warmly, and Castiel comes up, Dean taking his hand and pulling gently until Cas is comfortably settled in his personal space, their chests and abdomens brushing together.

Dean smiles, leans in and kisses his angel. Castiel's lips are warm, soft and still slightly flushed with sleep, and Dean takes his time, enjoying the small, slow kisses before running his tongue over Cas' lower lip, his angel's mouth parting open eagerly. He runs a hand up to the back of Cas' neck, rubbing gently, digging his nails a little into the soft skin and short black hair at the base, just as he knows Castiel likes it, and the quiet, deep hum rumbles in Cas' throat, dancing on Dean's tongue as he collects all of the sound and the taste of lightning it leaves lingering.

Castiel's hands settle on Dean's hips for a moment, thumbs brushing with small, teasing pressure over the hipbones concealed by the boxers, mimicking what Dean usually does to him – Cas' hipbones are one of his obsessions. The hands skim up, leaving the trail of tingling warmth electrifying Dean's skin, before one hand slips under the sleeve of his T-shirt and aligns itself with the handprint marking his flesh. A perfect fit Dean can feel, his sense of touch suddenly so sharp and acute that he knows without a doubt that Cas' hand covers the mark down to a millimetre.

Dean pulls away, nipping a little at Castiel's lower lip, because the way the way the full, supple flesh gives in is a damn addiction. He smirks, pressing a kiss on Cas' cheek, then down, following the scruff line to the sharp, strong curve of his jaw, placing a small lick under his ear. His angel tastes like air, and the sky, and the wind before a storm, and something more, tangy and very much _Cas_. An aroused huff of warm breath that Cas releases into his ear sends a small shiver down his spine and pooling down in his groin, not helping his morning condition any.

Damn, the next motel they stay in, they're taking two rooms, because he definitely misses having _all_ of Cas' angelic body to enjoy, and also would very much like to be free to get frisky with his angel in the morning without having to think about his brother being in the room.

Cas seems to be with him on this, because he's looking at him with dark, hooded eyes, black wells of his pupils opening wide to swallow half of the impossible blue in his irises, and a slightly quickened breath passes through his parted lips.

_Shit, shit, shit_, Dean definitely needs a cold shower if he doesn't want to jump his angel within ten feet of his just waking brother. A glance at the ridiculous duck tie helps a little.

With a grumble and some unintelligible humming, Sam invades the kitchen, pouring the remaining contents of the coffee pot into the mug with a chipped off handle that Dean thoughtfully left for him.

"Hey, guys," he mumbles, rubbing an eye, and takes a sip.

Dean gives Cas a small nod and leaves to get showered and dressed, but on his way to the bathroom, he still can hear Sammy's abrupt snort.

"Nice tie."

"Gabriel seems to think so, too."

"Aaaare my ears burning?" an annoying, chipper voice fills the room, and Dean groans, slamming the bathroom door behind him as quick as he can, wanting his Gabriel-less morning to last as long as it possibly can.

In the kitchen, Castiel regards his older brother calmly. Gabriel had landed between him and Sam, sitting on the only cleared spot of the kitchen countertop, and is sucking on a fragment of a long pressed-powder candy beads necklace looped around his neck. Back in his days in the Heaven, Castiel was regarded as his Garrison's best strategist, and he lives up to the name, prudently not bringing up the tie issue too early.

"Hey, Gabriel," he notes the warmth in Sam's greeting accompanied by a small smile.

"Hey, kiddo."

Over the wall, he can hear Dean's shower begin to run, and wishes he could join his hunter under the warm water. Like sleeping, showering is another human habit that is, by essence, completely disposable and unnecessary to him, but which he occasionally participates in now with Dean, because of the pleasure and enjoyment.

He feels Gabriel's grace giving him a playful nudge, and he responds by bristling up lightly. Gabriel's merriment tickles across the connection spanning between them. Sam remains oblivious to the exchange which humans would term 'psychic', for lack of sufficient wording in their vocabulary.

"What brings you here?" Sam asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Does a big brother need a reason to hang out with his baby one?" Gabriel throws an arm around Castiel's shoulders, and with his free hand fixes the altered tie.

"Uh… that's nice, I guess," Sam is slightly perplexed. "But we're in the middle of a hunt… we're probably gonna head out again today. So I don't know…"

"Don't you worry, Sammykins, I can take care of myself for a few hours. But it's so darling of you to care," Gabriel bats his eyelashes at Sam.

"Yeah, I was more thinking 'we need Cas', but OK.," Sam replies, rolling his eyes.

Gabriel snickers and lifts the necklace to his mouth again, crunching on a few beads to break them off the string. His grace feels warm and familiar beside Castiel's, and he's glad to have this sensation back, faintly reminiscent of his early days in Heaven when Gabriel often took care of him and later bantered and simply spent spare time.

But he doesn't forget the tie.

"Do you suggest a rematch of our game, since you want to spend time with me?" he asks, and Gabriel looks at him, a gleam dancing in his clear eyes as well as across their connection.

"Nah, I'll pass, bro."

"Gabriel?"

"Yes, Cas-Cas?"

"Change my tie back, please."

"Awww, I think it looks cute, baby bro!" a wide grin stretches across Gabriel's face, and he tousles Castiel's hair, but Castiel isn't enjoying it. The gesture is affectionate, but the feeling it produces is coloured very differently to the one that Dean evokes in him when delivering the same caress.

Sam chuckles at Gabriel's words, and Castiel hides his smile before it surfaces, knowing that Sam would second his request due to the earlier pointed out fact that they will go out researching and hunting. And he is aware of the warm thrum tingling in his brother's grace in response to Sam's fond amusement.

"That's true, Gabriel, but we're gonna go out and do some interviewing, and I don't think we're gonna get far if he's still wearing that," Sam points out.

"That would stunt our process, I believe," Castiel adds. "And the sooner we finish, the sooner we will have free time. Which we can spend with you."

Gabriel narrows his eyes and then chuckles, snapping his fingers, and Castiel glances down to see that indeed his tie is back to its usual state. His brother is even thoughtful enough to turn it what Dean and Sam consider as incorrect side forward.

"Happy?" he asks grumpily.

"I believe that is too high a term. I would say content," Castiel replies, Gabriel rolling his eyes in response. "And, thank you."

A moment later, Dean emerges from the bathroom, changed into daily clothes, and not looking entirely pleased to see Gabriel, but at least Castiel sees no signs of impending hostility, which he considers a favourable development.

"Bathroom's yours, Sammy, don't play around in there."

Sam rolls his eyes, but obediently heads out, stopping for a while at his bed to collect a change of clean clothes from his bag.

Dean stops before Castiel, glances at the tie, and a small smirk curls up the corners of his lips in a way that Castiel always enjoys to see. It means he is amused, warmly so, and that always makes him glad.

The summer sunrays fall into the kitchen, sifting through the tarnish of vague dirt on the window, their light colouring the cheap and neglected interior with a gentle touch of gold, bringing out a more noble hue in every item. And basked in those warm, lazy rays, Dean looks beautiful, Castiel thinks, more so than usually. His hair verges in harmonious balance between dark, sandy blonde and copper red where the sunshine intensifies the hue, his green eyes become brighter and filled with the sunlight, and the freckles gently stand out against his gold-touched skin.

He always found Dean beautiful, in regards of both his soul and the body clothing it, and he allows himself the indulgence, watching his beloved.

"Whoa, poor Sammy," Gabriel's voice cuts into the peaceful moment, and Dean instantly glares while Castiel allows his mild discontentment to rub against Gabriel's grace. "I thought the eye-fucking would end once you two chuckleheads proceeded to _actual_ fucking."

"Shut up, you dick," Dean growls and reaches for the coffee he'd abandoned when leaving for the bathroom.

Castiel's eyes linger on his older brother, the calm but cold gaze conveying he doesn't appreciate the interruption. Gabriel at first raises his eyebrows challengingly, grimaces a little in mockery, shaking his head to sides, but when Castiel's gaze does not relent, he eventually is the one to surrender and look away. Castiel tucks away a small smirk of victory, sharing a brief glance with Dean who is less cautious about concealing his smugness.

"So, what brings you here, little drummer boy?" Dean asks, finishing his coffee.

"Just wanting to hang with baby bro," Gabriel grins, patting Castiel's cheek in a way he definitely doesn't enjoy, but which at the same time isn't bothersome either.

"Yeah, that's great, but we're going out on a hunt," Dean smiles coldly.

"No problem, Deano, I'll wait around till you stooges return," Gabriel winks, and Castiel can actually feel the rapid jolt of alert passing through Dean.

"Like hell you will! Sammy! Get outta there!"

Sam knew the peace wouldn't last long, what with Dean and Gabriel in the same room, even with Castiel's calming presence to mollify any budding conflicts. So he's not overly surprised when his brother hollers for him. With a resigned sigh he quickly finishes dressing and leaves the bathroom, rubbing the residual wetness out of his hair with a towel.

"What?"

"Listen, Sam, me and Cas are gonna go check out the well and the town again, and you stay and do research here, and babysit. I don't trust this ass-clown around our stuff," Dean glowers at Gabriel who responds with a challenging crunch on a pressed-powder bead held between his teeth.

Sam snorts mirthlessly.

"Yeah, cause I can hold down a friggin archangel when he tries to put itching powder in your clothes," he says, but nonetheless sits down at the table, opening his laptop.

To be honest, he prefers to stay in today for some reason. He'll pore over all the town's history online and check their father's journal for any overlaps with what they have here. And maybe take care of his own project, since he bought that journal from the old lady in the last town they left.

"I believe Gabriel would prefer something more refined," Cas replies to him, and Sam snorts at the look of angry panic flashing through Dean's eyes.

"Don't inspire," he growls.

Gabriel chuckles and snaps his fingers, materialising a box of chocolate chip ice cream and also causing Dean to jump in alarm, whipping around.

"I _hate_ that fucking sound," he growls. "C'mon, Cas," he adds in a softer tone, tapping the angel's arm, and Castiel obediently follows him out the door.

Sam sighs, sparing a glance at the archangel scooping himself a generous portion of the ice cream right out of the tub. Huh. Babysit. Easy-peasy.

* * *

Dean scrutinises the well, searching for any carvings or perhaps hidden objects, but finds nothing. There are no town records about anyone having drowned in it, no great fire being put out with the water from the well, no drowning of any freaking witches, no nothing. And now no spells or curses put on it either.

"Alright, what gives?" he frowns, sitting half-assed on the edge of the circular stone wall and peering down into the well.

It still could be used if anyone had an Amish thing – the water still stands quite high, a lining of obligatory moss surrounding the slick stones above the surface, and he can't spot the bottom. He picks up a pebble and drops it in, but it quickly vanishes in the darkness, leaving him unable to gauge the depth.

Beside him, a hitherto passive Cas suddenly twitches with interest and joins him, bending over the wall and reaching into the well, leaning in so far that Dean feels his stomach lurch with rapid alert as Castiel stretches carelessly down to let his fingers touch the water.

"Dude, what the hell?" he gasps, reflexively grasping a fistful of the trench coat to keep his curious angel from falling in. Not that Cas probably _could_ fall in, or that it would be a problem for him if he did, Dean thinks on a belated note, but holds on to Cas anyway. So he's protective, who cares. 'bout time he learned to protect what he cares about.

"Dean," Castiel's voice echoes, distorted by the depth of the well and the water his fingers finally dipped in. "This well takes water from a large underground deposit – a flowing deposit. This water pools here from an underground river."

A light bulb is beginning to flicker in Dean's brain.

"Underground river, huh?" he sticks his head down, though not quite as kamikaze deep in as Cas. He withdraws, pulling Cas back out along, and takes another look at the stone wall surrounding the well. The light bulb gets brighter. "This is limestone. Limestone makes caves. Cas, can you follow that underground river or whatever? I think I got a pretty good idea about the ghost," he grins.

Castiel nods, a spark of understanding dancing around in his eyes. He then turns around and, as if following an invisible string laid out on the ground, makes a steady beeline ahead, cutting diagonally through the square, then down the street leading up to it, and continues on through the town, Dean following by his side. He smiles, glancing at his angel – calmly pensive face, even pace, and he's walking a perfectly straight line, only twice veering off the course to bypass a building. When that happens, he looks mildly upset, as if he only decides not to smite the inconvenience because he's in a benevolent mood. Dean finds it amusing because he knows Cas would never blow up a house, but he looks like he could.

The invisible path soon leads them out of the town and into the woods – the terrain is rocky, pines growing by splaying their roots over protruding stones and boulders that go underground, confirming Dean's theory.

"I'll bet'cha some people went spelunking, and one of them drowned in an underground river in a cave," he talks as they climb uphill. "The ghost haunts the well because it's connected to the water in the caves, and it's in the town, with the people and where the poor bastard used to live, probably."

"I believe you're right."

It's late morning and the sun is high in the cloudless sky, the light sifting and filtering in between the branches, heating the leaves and trees, raising a summer scent of resin, sand and wood. Not many birds are singing, since the spring is long gone, but occasional calls echo through the calm scenery, melodies trailed off halfway through or cheery, persistent chirping. Every now and then, a fluttering bird cuts through a beam of sunlight, its plumage glinting with coruscation of colours. The shrubs are green, some smattered with berries, and a few insects buzz around in the air. There is no wind, and the space around feels infinite, as if the forest is a realm of its own, and as they stray from any paths, encountering a human being feels like a blissfully distant, abstract concept.

Dean breathes in, smelling the pines, the maples, the resin and the sun warming it all, and hears a woodpecker work on a tree up there somewhere. Peace. Peace. So much peace and so much tranquil life around. Cas walks beside him as they tread downhill now, and he's not saying anything, but the way his eyes wander around in absolute calm and soothed enjoyment, the way a smile plays about the corners of his full lips, the way his eyes smile even more… it all tells Dean he sees and feels exactly the same things he does. And he calmly takes it all in.

A blue dragonfly, blue as Castiel's eyes, soars before them, hovering just above the ground for a moment, and it makes a smooth arch, taking off and flying away over their heads.

And Dean wants a holiday. Just two days, to find a forest like this one, and go hiking with Cas, just something so freaking _normal_ that it feels weird when he thinks about doing it. Just taking a walk in the woods, finding a nice patch and sitting down there for a while.

Castiel's hand finds his, and he squeezes it gently, looking at his angel. Cas is smiling, sharing his thoughts, and suddenly Dean feels something airy and large grow in his chest, making breathing easier than it has been for years. He _has_ it – that moment, he has it now. Walking in the woods with his angel. But he's still gonna try for a free day to do it without a hunt on the agenda.

"Dean," Castiel tugs at his hand a little, and Dean blinks, snapping out of his daydreams.

Cas is pulling him gently sideways, and Dean notices an entrance to a cave – a large, jagged chasm gaping in the side of another hill. It stretches wide, and is tall enough for even Sammy to walk in without bending. Dean grins.

"Great. I'm telling you, whoever died, probably drowned in the cave."

Castiel nods and they head to the opening, Dean producing a flashlight from his pocket – it's small, but gives a strong beam. Never leave home without a weapon, flashlight, salt and matches. He throws Cas a flirty grin, tossing the flashlight up in his hand, and they venture inside. The sounds of the forest melt away and vanish, as if left behind a closed door, and gaping silence engulfs them. Castiel, of course, couldn't care less if it was dark, but Dean pretty soon needs to turn on the torch and navigate carefully, occasionally tripping over rocks.

It's damp, occasional droplets of water falling from the uneven apex toothed with small stalactites (or were those stalagmites? Dean can never remember), and their quiet dripping echoes in the uncannily deep silence. As he listens more carefully, Dean can hear the distant whoosh of a flowing water.

"Hear the water, Cas?" he asks stupidly – Castiel probably heard the freaking water when he followed the trail on the ground.

"Yes," Castiel's voice is deeper than ever in the cave, but also quiet, as if he moulds into the mystic quietness made here by nature.

Dean can hear his own breath hang in the air as they venture on, careful and slow, the small light of the torch licking the path before their feet and occasionally up and to the sides to investigate the darkness.

"Pretty dark," Dean hums. "The water's getting louder though… so I'm thinking it comes up somewhere around here, and they didn't notice it and fell in-" he trails off, abruptly pulled down as the next step he takes is deprived of any support, the rocky ground no longer there.

"Dean!" Castiel calls out simultaneously, gripping him by the shoulder and holding him as Dean feels his legs are plunged up to the knees into quiet water that looms in the darkness, and there's no bottom he can feel anywhere. Hadn't Cas caught him, he would probably have fallen in deep, in total darkness.

Castiel hauls him out with absolute ease, as if he weighs not much more than a cat, and Dean holds tightly onto the hand gripping his shoulder, huffing a briefly shaken breath as his legs try to find steady support on the ground.

"Boy, when I'm right, I'm right," he laughs nervously.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't prove any more of your theories…" Castiel's voice hums with a barely tangible gleam of deadpan humour, and Dean chuckles, leaning back into him. His legs are completely dry now, courtesy of his angel.

"Yeah… thanks, by the way…" he bends down to pick up the flashlight he'd dropped, and directs the scope onto the deceptively silent, motionless water lurking ahead. The water stretches for only a relatively narrow strip, disappearing again under another stretch of rock. "Looks like whoever it was, fell in and couldn't find the opening again," Dean muses morbidly. "Or just couldn't swim. Anyway, gotta tell Sam to look for cave accidents… come on," he takes Castiel's hand, and they retrace their steps towards the opening which soon hovers in sight, a bright, sharp spot in the darkness.

Leaving the cave feels literally like coming out from a different, alien world. The sun and richly smelling air are so welcome that Dean grins, despite having to squint his eyes for a long moment to adjust. Castiel, of course, has no such problem.

They head back, up the hill again, and Dean breathes in deeply as they pass by a large, thick oak that spreads its vast boughs like a dome. He slows down, taking Castiel's hand, and gently stopping him as well. He smiles, pulling him close, and brushes his thumbs over Castiel's cheekbones, letting his fingers immerse in the tousled black hair. He really doesn't feel like going back yet. Since he has this moment in the forest, he wants it to last a little longer.

He leans in and kisses Castiel, and it's all warmth and softness and gentle, lazy slide of tongues and unhurried touches. He lowers one arm, wrapping it around Cas' waist and pulling him closer, flush against his body, while Castiel's hand runs through his hair, sending a tingle of pleasant excitement down his spine. The kiss ends, but Dean doesn't pull away, instead brushing a small smile against Castiel's damp lips.

"When we get that astrolabe… we're gonna take some free time," he murmurs quietly and gently presses a brief kiss on Cas' mouth again. "One or two days… hell, maybe we'll go crazy and take three," he kisses him again. "We'll find a forest like this one and hang out. And then we'll find a lake, I know you like lakes. And we'll hang out there, too."

He presses a series of small, tender kisses against Castiel's lips, unable to just pull away, and he smiles, resting his forehead against his angel's.

"I would like that," Castiel's whisper is quiet, but Dean can hear the shy smile in it.

And he grins.

* * *

Gabriel flies in and out, which distracts Sam a little (especially when the archangel appeared suddenly behind his back after a half an hour absence and loudly popped a bubble made form vibrant pink gum he was chewing), but he actually proves much less of a menace than Sam had been fearing. So far, no damages of possessions or health (physical and mental alike), and only occasional whining about boredom. Why Gabriel keeps hanging around, Sam doesn't know.

But very quickly the company becomes welcome, when Sam comes up with no results from his extensive research on the town and the well and general topic of ghosts haunting wells as such. He has nothing to do, so he goes against the health ideals and accepts an offered chocolate muffin (there's a cross-eyed moose face drawn in white chocolate on the top) and asks Gabriel if he knows anything about ghosts haunting wells.

"I think you covered it all in your research, Samsquatch," Gabriel shrugs, snapping a can of whipped cream into existence and covering some fruit-filled pastry with a thick blanket.

"How- were you reading my thoughts?" Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

"I wasn't so much reading as being swarmed by them. You're really loud when you focus."

"Right," Sam ignores the wink sent his way. "I hope Dean and Cas come back with something," he clasps his hands above his head and stretches back in the chair, feeling his spine crack pleasurably. "Preferably more than hickeys and stupid grins," he adds with a huff, and Gabriel snickers, finishing the pastry.

"Boy, you poor little moose, you."

Sam looks at his duffel bag, thinking about the recently bought journal he keeps in it, and of the few pages he already filled with writing and occasional sketches. He could really, really use an addition to what he already jotted down… and also, he just really, really wants to see it again.

"Uh… hey, Gabriel?" he asks, wondering if he should shoot or dance around the question. Well, Gabriel seems to have a pretty straightforward approach himself, to make an understatement of the century, so…

"Yeah, kiddo?" Gabriel stops drawing something on one of Dean's T-shirts (when the hell did he get his hands on it?) and looks up.

"Could I see your Horn again?"

Gabriel's eyebrows shoot up and his honey gold eyes gleam with a spark.

"Gee, Sammy, that seems a bit personal, if not kinky," he smirks, and Sam groans.

"Dude, that's not… oh, come on!"

Gabriel cackles, Sam gritting his teeth, but eventually the archangel settles down and tilts his head indicatively. Sam looks down and sees the Horn of Gabriel on the table, laid out between them and shining with dim, ancient polish.

Sam reverently picks it up, once again surprised at the weight, even though he was mentally prepared for it this time. There's something about this instrument – the design, the mystic, incomprehensible power, the stories, the destiny, the _reason_ behind it that addicts him. The idea that this would be the last sound to resonate across the world…

"Like I said, it can play more than one melody," Gabriel smoothly cuts into his thoughts, which he probably was listening to all the time. "That's why it can help us keep the Gates of Heaven open, and even destroy the tablet of angels."

Sam trails his fingertips over the meticulously carved scales of the ouroboros.

"Can I, uh… take a picture of it?" he feels really stupid asking this, but hell – priceless, mythical, holy artefact!

"What are you, keeping a diary?"

"Something like that," Sam deadpans bravely, and Gabriel shrugs, pulling the tolerant face of someone who just found out their conversation partner is into train spotting or testing genetics on peas.

Sam quickly takes the picture with his phone and picks the Horn back up again. Infinite and finite… Infinite inside producing a finite sound, the mathematical paradox of golden paint… He's holding _infinity_ in his hands, literally. He stares as the realisation hits him, and feels exceptionally privileged. So privileged that the sudden, overwhelming need he gets, feels like sacrilege. But he has to.

"Can I… you know… try blowing it?"

Gabriel's jaw slowly drops, and his face fills with such intense light of sneaky joy that it takes Sam a moment to realise the mother of all straight lines he'd just fed him.

"…Nah, too easy," Gabriel finally chuckles to himself, and then gives Sam a challenging, upward nod. "Knock yourself out, kiddo."

There's a suspicious look of teasing expectation, as if Gabriel is waiting to see Sam trip over a cleverly masked obstacle, and it makes Sam hesitate. Is something gonna happen? No, Gabriel wouldn't let him try it if he could actually bring about some horrible calamity…

…right?

Keeping a suspicious glare on Gabriel, Sam slowly raises the Horn to his lips, hesitating for a moment. He almost cannot bring himself to touch it – something so sacred, holy and pure, while he is so dark and twisted, with the past of demon blood addiction and soullessness and so many other things…

"Stop the self-depreciation and get on with it," Gabriel prompts, while his words are light and uncaring, there is some stern steel in his eyes, as if Sam's thoughts have angered him.

Determined, Sam closes his eyes, presses his lips to the mouthpiece and blows a breath…

Nothing.

Not a sound, not even a hiss of his breath passing through the instrument.

Sam opens his eyes, blinking in surprise, and Gabriel releases a laugh, confusing Sam who looks to him for explanation.

"Infinite on the inside, kiddo," Gabriel explains with a wide grin. "Your breath will travel through it forever."

There is something completely flabbergasting in what Gabriel just said, the idea of his breath surging through the mythical instrument for ever and ever, literally _forever_, never reaching the opening. Sam stares.

"Then… how can you play it?" he asks, gathering his awe-scattered thoughts together.

"Archangel lungs, kiddo," Gabriel puffs out his chest proudly. "I'm the only one who can get a sound outta this old trumpet."

There it is again, this lack of respect or caring with which Gabriel speaks about the Horn. It perplexes Sam, but he also senses this isn't the right moment to ask. Maybe some other time… maybe when he gets to know the archangel a little bit better.

"Come on, drop the sourpuss," Gabriel snaps his fingers, and the Horn is suddenly gone from Sam's hand. "No one would be able to play it. Here, have a cupcake," he offers a suddenly materialised pastry.

Sam rolls his eyes.

"I don't wanna cupcake."

"Chocolate?"

"No."

"Éclair?"

"_No_."

"Gingerbread angel?"

"…You're screwing with me, right?"

"Oh, baby, in so many ways."

* * *

Dean opens the motel room door to the sounds of occasional electronic bleeping, engines revving and fervent clicking, sparsely seasoned with a yelp or two from his dorky brother.

"The hell…?" he stops in the middle of the room, Cas bumping a little into his shoulder, but not even remotely fazed by the sight ahead.

Sam and Gabriel sit on the edge of Sam's bed, facing a widescreen flat TV hooked up to a top-shelf PlayStation set, and the dork and the archangel are each clutching a controller, eyes glued to the screen showcasing moderately crowded city streets and two cars speeding down the asphalt.

Gabriel is driving what appears to be a Bugatti 16.4 Veyron Super Sport (figures…) painted white and adorned with a design of flaming gold wings running along the sides, while Sam has more modestly restricted himself to a Ford Shelby Mustang GT500 in classic blue with white racing stripes.

"What the hell?" Dean repeats, louder this time as his brother idiotically leans to the side, going into a sharp turn and laughing triumphantly when Gabriel's Bugatti does a little worse on the curve due to the too high speed.

"You said, babysit," Sam shrugs, glancing at Dean briefly over his shoulder. "So I am. He threatened to smite the town if I didn't play with him."

Dean closes his eyes for a moment.

"I'm _so_ hoping you mean the video game…" he mutters under his breath, but Sam doesn't appear to have heard him, too busy letting out another yelp.

"Hey, no mojo!" he cries out in the tone of a wrongfully accused kid, but Gabriel only snickers menacingly, altering the game to conjure up a stretch of straight road ahead, developing speed and leaving Sammy's Mustang behind.

"Anyway, I'm a friggin genius, I solved the case!" Dean announces over the _vroom_ of the engines. "Well, we did," he nudges Cas playfully.

"Really?" Sam instantly hits pause and turns around, ignoring Gabriel's sulky 'heeey!'.

"Yeah, Cas noticed that the water in the well comes from an underground river, so I figured whoever is haunting the well, probably drowned in a cave around here. And I was right," he clears his throat, not really keen to elaborate on how very well his theory was tested. "So we gotta check for deaths in caves and we're set for the salt-and-burn."

"Great," Sam acknowledges.

The game is suddenly back on, and Sammy flails, whining accusations of cheating at the archangel, and, out of lack of better things to do, Dean sits down on his own bed to watch the last few minutes of the round, and Castiel joins him. Sam's Mustang is slower, but steady, and Gabriel tends to speed a bit too much, which costs him points on sharp curves which, in turn, appear to be Sam's forte and strategy of choice. Still, the game ends with Gabriel's triumph, and the two type in their names into the table of scores.

_1. Saint Gabriel the Archangel Overlord of Awesomeness_

_2. Sam_

* * *

"Dude, what are you still researching?" Dean asks as, upon emerging from the bathroom, he sees his already showered and changed brother hunched over the table and laptop in his classic geek pose, scribbling something down in a journal that Dean doesn't recognise.

Gabriel has left (finally!), losing interest in the party once they'd plunged into local cave accidents research, and soon they found the mention of a fairly recent death by drowning in exactly the cave Dean and Castiel had visited earlier. They stocked up on salt, lighters and some weapons, and headed out to do the standard grave desecration. It got a little messy, since the ghost caught them up to the elbows in his bones, but apart from a few bruises and a rather persistent stench of opened grave, they were fine. Cas handled the ghost beautifully, while Dean and Sam lit up the bones. After that, it was back to the motel, a lot of showering, and plans to leave the next day.

"Nothing," Sam tries to be casual when shrugging, but the hand he secretively moves over the journal, like a kid trying to save his homework from being copied, turns on a red light in Dean's head.

He approaches his brother slowly, towel draped over his shoulder, smirking a little, traced by Sammy's watchful eyes. Oh, the nerd is definitely up to something here. Dean lunges abruptly, snatching the journal, but Sam's reflexes are just as good as his own, and he jumps after Dean, trying to wrench the notebook out of his hand.

"Dean, you jerk! Give it back!"

Being ridiculously outgrown by his sasquatch of a younger brother, Dean has long since worked out a strategy to keep something out of Sammy's reach – hide it behind his back and keep twisting from side to side, or jump with it onto the bed. It's the former now, and he finally manages to get out of the cage of Sam's flailing limbs, the kid shooting him a mighty bitchface of sulk.

Dean flips through the pages of the neat looking journal and arches an eyebrow. About ten or twelve pages are filled with Sam's meticulous scrawls, lecturing on angels, their properties, traits and some phenomena. He can see a few pages about flying and wings, and a half-assed sketch of Cas with shadows of wings arching from behind his back.

"The hell?" he questions a still sulking and bitchfacing Sammy.

"I… thought it could be useful," his brother shrugs lamely. "Nobody knows more about angels than we do, Dean, _nobody_. So I thought I should maybe get some of that stuff written down."

"So what, my angel is some sign language gorilla project to you?"

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I knew you'd understand… This is priceless knowledge, jerk! And I'm writing about Gabriel and others, too."

Dean flips the cover to take a look at it.

"_Compendium angelorum_? Dude, seriously, you need to start taking some anti-geek pills!"

"This is a book about friggin angels of the lord, Dean, it felt a bit dumb to call it _Angel manual_!"

"Caaaas!"

A shift of air, beat of wings, and Castiel appears beside them in a blink of an eye, casting a slightly confused glance between them.

"What is it, Dean?"

"Check this out, Sammy is an angel professor now," Dean smirks, shoving the journal at his angel.

He's not exactly sure what reaction he'd been expecting, but he sure as hell didn't anticipate Cas taking the notebook caringly and looking it over with a sentimental, almost knowing smile on his face, as if recognising something from his past.

"I was wondering when you would start writing it," he tells Sam with a warm gleam in his eyes, and both Winchesters are slightly stunned.

"What, you… you saw that in the future?" Dean asks suspiciously.

"Yes," Cas has that goddamn sexy smile on now, white teeth peeking between his lips as he continues to browse the journal with something alike to parental satisfaction. "Your brother's book, Dean, will be regarded as the most revered and in-depth work on angels. Among the circles involved in what humans call 'the supernatural' – hunters and the like."

"So- so wait, what… Hunters are gonna go after angels?" Dean feels sick somewhere in his stomach at the thought – yeah, crushing majority of angels they've met are dicks, but every now and then… there is a Cas. Or that poor Samandriel bastard. Or even Gabriel.

"Oh, no, far from it," Castiel reassures with a smile. "The book will help them to defend themselves against angels, but will also deter them from going after angels. It is a great work, Sam," he turns, returning the journal to Sammy who stands, gaping, eyes wide in wonder and awe. "And it has just as great a future."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it :) I reckon three or so chapters more to go.**

**Reviews make my day :D**


	6. Homework

**New chapter :) A lot of Gabriel here, because I recently rewatched _Hammer of the Gods_, and was assaulted with massive feels.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Sam knows he's dreaming. It could be the lavish décor of the room, or the serene beach visible outside the window, but mostly it's the plethora of candy, pies, cakes and pastries laid out on the table before him.

Not a single thing of his usual menu that tends to avoid heart attacks, cavities, cholesterol or founding stones of diabetes. Sure, he's not completely ascetic when it comes to sweets and enjoys some occasionally, but a breakfast table set up with the dream meal of a ten-year-old on a perpetual sugar rush, is not his style. Still, he's here, and it's a dream, so he might as well.

Chewing on an absurdly pink donut, he looks around. He sometimes dreams about richly decorated rooms – it's kind of expected when he's spent most of his life in crappy motels. This one is nice, very sunny, done in sandy, gold and caramel hues, and he thinks that when he's done with the breakfast, he will go check out the beach. For someone living on the road, he's enjoyed a beach and ocean far too few times in his life, and he's always liked the appeal – the waves, the sun, the sand, the relaxation and the opportunities of fun and swimming… Dean once took him to the beach when they were kids, sneaking behind their dad's back. He found out and gave them an earful – Dean, mostly… - but it was fun anyway.

The donut is really nice, not as disgustingly artificial tasting as a few he happened to try on occasions, mostly in childhood, so he helps himself to a white one next. As he chews on the sweet, he peers out the window, wondering where he is. The beach scenery doesn't really match the décor of the room, but it feels right, and he doesn't think about it. The sand looks delicate, pale gold in colour and Sam imagines it's warm. There's no one on the beach, emptiness stretching into soothing infinity, and he thinks about taking a walk. He's feeling relaxed, like he hasn't for a very, very long time, and he feels like there's something he should be remembering…

"Probably the astrolabe," Gabriel's voice speaks from behind him, and he turns around – of course, Gabriel. His presence feels natural and anticipated.

"Yeah, probably," Sam agrees.

"Don't worry, kiddo, it's getting taken care of. The spell will work," Gabriel liberally helps himself to one of the donuts, and Sam looks at an old clay bowl that sits now on the table. It's the bowl in which they will mix the ingredients to perform the searching spell.

"Do you know where we are?" he asks.

Gabriel shrugs, having already gotten through one donut (he's got a pace…) and starting on another one, licking a dab of fresh icing off the side.

"Anywhere you want."

"Cool. I wanna go swimming when we find the astrolabe."

"Sounds like a plan, champ," Gabriel licks the icing off his fingers now, wets his index finger and collects the scattered Hundreds-and-Thousands off the plate.

"Hey, Gabe, do angels swim?"

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow.

"Boy, are you funny when you're asleep. Yeah, why wouldn't we? There's just usually no point."

"Huh," Sam watches Gabriel go about the third (or was it fourth already?) donut, munching it up bite by bite, and then suddenly the image gets blurry and dissolves into murky pieces.

He blinks, head feeling fuzzy, and he grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he tries to open them. There's light pooling in through the window, and he squints down at the alarm clock on the nightstand by the motel bed he's sleeping in. Almost 10 am… really late. But well, he can sleep in, he's got nothing to do today, really…

"I mean, it's not that we don't get into water at all," a sudden voice makes him jump so high he almost punches out a hole in the ceiling with his head.

His heart hammering approximately a thousand times a minute, he flails, reaching for the gun under his pillow, fog swimming in his eyes as they bulge out to see Gabriel comfortably seated at the shoddy table near his bed. The archangel is reclined in the rickety chair, nonchalant and a little bit smug, cocky smirk in place, honey gold eyes fixed idly on Sam, like he's continuing a conversation they'd been having.

…wait…

"It's just that we don't _need to_ swim, and personally water isn't very hot on my list of entertainments," the archangel carries on, shrugging.

"Dude…" Sam lets the gun drop onto the covers spread over his legs, and he rubs his eyes, trying to coax at least some _semblance_ of thoughts out of his brain. "The hell… were you just in my head?" he asks.

Gabriel shrugs again.

"You were dreaming really loud. I heard you had donuts," he explains casually.

"So… you got _into my dream_…" Sam frowns really hard as he tries his best to think. "Just so you could have donuts?"

"… Yeah…"

Sam blinks, slowly, and buries his face in his hands.

"No. I need a shower. It's too early to deal with this crap," he mumbles, half to himself and half to Gabriel, and throws off the covers, getting out of the bed.

"They were really good donuts!" he hears Gabriel shout after him as he closes the bathroom door.

Leaving the archangel-turned-Trickster alone in his room is probably one massive strategic mistake that will circle back to bite him in the ass, but he doesn't care right now, Sam thinks as he gets out of his sleeping clothes and steps into the shower. The water helps wake him up a little more, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back to let the streams fall onto his face. Much better.

He wonders what kind of prank he'll find set up in his room once he gets out of the bathroom. It's not like he has Dean or Cas to keep an eye out on Gabriel – the lovebirds got a separate room this time, when they checked in yesterday, having wrapped up the ghost-of-the-well case and moved on.

As always when the three of them get two rooms, Sam will sit and wait for Dean and Castiel to come to him to plan out the day. He'd taken the initiative to come to their room once, and he's _never_ gonna do that again.

* * *

The best sleep he gets is when he sleeps with his angel, hands down, no contest. _Especially_ after sex. Dean smiles, peering at the still dozing Cas beside him – he's sprawled on his back, black hair wilder than usual, ruffled by Dean in last night's fits of passion, and an expression of focused peace is etched across his face. The sheets and covers are tumbled up a little where they reach halfway up his abdomen, the white bringing out the gently darkened ivory hue of his skin. He's breathing in an immaculately even rhythm, chest rising and falling softly and minutely, full lips parted just a little.

So goddamn beautiful.

Dean, leans in to brush his lips over the messy spikes of Castiel's hair. It tickles, and he smiles, holding himself back from going for more, because he knows even the lightest touch is enough to wake Cas up. Yeah, yeah, Dean Winchester delaying gratification, who'd have thunk.

He loves waking up to Cas, he decided recently. Loves it. Especially when they're both naked and free to do whatever the hell they want on a lazy morning.

Castiel shifts a little, and stretches slightly through his thinning sleep, arching upwards, back lifting off the bed, slender muscles and tendons glimpsing under his marble skin, and then he relaxes onto the mattress again, releasing a slow breath, plush lips parted and showing a small peek of white teeth. Dean stares, pretty sure he's never gonna breathe properly again, because – holy hell, Cas' lithe body is absolutely gorgeous when exposed like that. Slim muscles, pale skin, subtle outlines of tendons, perfect shapes.

Angel in the flesh, he thinks, watching, trying to swallow.

Cas does that – he doesn't particularly act seductive (except for a few instances in bed), but now and then he does things like that, unintended, coming naturally, that take Dean's breath away and make his blood go rapidly south.

Now Castiel is lying in the sheets, his breath brushing over Dean's arm, he luscious, pinkish lips so absolutely kissable that Dean is downright aching with the need and craving. A soft sigh escapes from that throat and mouth, an echo of a voice almost laced into it, and there is a glimpse of incredible, dark blue between the frames of short, thick eyelashes. Castiel blinks, and his cosmic eyes focus on Dean, looking up, almost no trace of slumber in them at all.

Dean grins and swoops down for a kiss, now that his angel finally is awake. It's slow and lazy, but Dean quickly deepens it, releasing some of the heat and need that Cas got stirring up in him. He runs his hand over Castiel's chest, tracing the smooth lines of muscles, and thoroughly enjoys the quiet, deep hum that comes in response. He trails his hand down, running over the ribs, till he has a soft hold of Castiel's hip, rubbing circles with his thumb over the jutting hipbone.

He loves mornings like these. It's all slow, hot kisses, lazy slide of tongues, skin and sheets, fingers running through hair, bodies rubbing together, breaths mingling. Castiel's hand skims up his side, over the ribs, leaving a path of tingling warmth that sinks into his flesh with delight, an angelic caress that, when intensified, leaves Dean breathless. Dean pulls away and looks down at Cas – mussed hair, pinkish, full lips parted, half-lidded eyes, pale skin… he looks so goddamn gorgeous Dean could freaking _eat him up_.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel says, and Dean chuckles at the almost deadpan greeting.

"Hey, angel," Dean pecks his lips briefly. "Sleep well?"

"Yes."

Dean smirks, moving over Cas, laying over him, and leans in for a heated kiss, a small thrill running down his spine when his angel eagerly deepens it, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and pulling him closer. He pulls away and presses a kiss on Castiel's cheek, trailing down to the corner of his jaw, and sucks on his earlobe softly, relishing the quiet moan and Castiel's hand travelling up his back in a needy way. He presses a kiss under Castiel's ear, down his neck, and takes his time on Cas' throat, leaving slow, lazy kisses, nipping at the skin with his teeth and licking over the spots soothingly.

Castiel's breathing picks up, and he arches his back as Dean licks over the hollow at the base of his throat that became exposed when Cas leaned his head back. His wandering hand grips Dean's shoulder, lining up with the handprint – he does that, sometimes, when his pleasure spikes. It's like he's trying to hold on, and it's so hot that it sets fire to Dean's blood each time.

Cas breathes out from deep in his throat as Dean works on his neck, and it makes him shiver with lust. He finds his angel's lips again, and Castiel meets him with fervent eagerness and demand, arching back again and pressing their bodies together in a way that makes Dean moan into the deep kiss.

As Dean pulls away for breath, a gleam passes through Castiel's eyes, like a lightning before a storm, and with a twist of hips he rolls them over, landing on top. Dean can just watch Cas as he hovers over him, eyes dark, black hair wild, before Castiel kisses him, demanding but also pleadingly needy in a way that makes his stomach tight. Dean moans, running his hand up Cas' spine, till he presses his fingers between his shoulder blades, where he knows his sensitive wing spot is located. Cas pulls away, releasing a gasp, hips grinding down on Dean's, and with a moan Dean tries to flip them over again, but his angel clearly has other plans, pinning him down.

With a growl, Cas leans in, claiming Dean's lips in another fierce kiss, exploring his mouth with his tongue without waiting for invitation, and Dean moans, gripping a fistful of the gorgeous black hair on Cas' head, pulling slightly, and it only seems to stoke Castiel's fire more.

And soon Dean is the one reduced to holding on.

* * *

Cas has a very visible hickey on his neck, and Sam feels very much less hungry for breakfast when his brother and the angel come into his room. Cas' hair is ruffled into a complete mess, and Dean looks very smug and pleased with himself, which makes Sam very fervently push against some insistent mental images that pop up in his mind. He got enough of them already when last night the entire motel blew a fuse, and Sam knows _exactly_ why that happened.

Dean seems to notice Gabriel only when the archangel snickers, and Sam feels grateful, because that finally makes his brother stop tracing Castiel's every move with sex eyes in a way that's definitely not as discreet as he thinks.

"So what's the plan?" he asks, clearing his throat. "Looking for a new case or heading back to the bat-cave?"

Sam shrugs.

"Dunno, man, it's only five days left till the new moon. Might as well take a break and prepare for the searching spell."

Castiel twitches, as if he'd remembered something.

"Yes," he reaches into his coat pocket and produces a phial with ground dust in it, holding it out for either Sam or Dean to take from him. "One of the ingredients – the fern blossom."

"Fern blossom?" Sam takes the phial and peers through the distorting glass – the dust is brown, faintly sparkling with gold and silver. "I thought that was a myth, ferns don't have flowers."

"Not the currently growing ones, no," Castiel confirms.

"You OK?" Dean instantly frowns with concern as he realises that Cas had taken a trip in time, who knows how long back. He still remembers what happened the last time, the passing out, the bleeding and swooning, and he feels a sick twist in his stomach at the idea of Cas carelessly risking all that again just for some damn flower powder. "Dammit, you shouldn't do things like that…"

"I'm fine, Dean," Castiel's voice is laced with that steely firmness he always uses to sever discussions, and there's something about it that leaves even Dean unable to dispute. "When I transported you and Sam back in time, I was not at my full abilities, my grace was damaged, and I had the two of you to carry into a potential paradox in time. Ordinarily, time travel isn't a problem for me."

"Well, that's great," Gabriel grins, and proceeds to snap his fingers, materialising a few items on the table. "Here you go, now we've got just the three grade-A ingredients missing."

Dean leans over the handful of small containers provided by the archangel – a phial with something that looks like a dried tail from some reptile, a strange looking feather (not angel though, he's pretty sure), a couple of weird pebbles, a small jar with some sort of liquid in it, and…

"Skittles?" Sam asks beside him, arching an eyebrow as he looks up dubiously.

"Oops," Gabriel snatches the red plastic packet off the table, and instantly opens it, popping a few of the sweets into his mouth. "Sorry, that's mine."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean murmurs. "So, all we need now are the blood, tears and breath?"

"Yes," Castiel confirms.

"Great. We can get the blood whenever we need… I'll check if there's a circus coming to town so we can get Sammy's fearful tears," Dean smirks, and Sam bristles up.

"Shut up, dude, I don't _actually cry_," he growls.

"Well, that depends, if they have several clowns, maybe we can get them to take you on the stage for their act and I'm pretty sure-"

"Shut up, jerk!" Sam flushes a fantastic shade of red, glaring death at Dean.

"I think we will have to obtain the tears at the end – that way, we can establish a plan," Castiel cuts in before the fight escalates – yeah, he doesn't like conflict. Dean thinks it's weird, given he's a soldier of Heaven and everything, but then again that doesn't mean Cas actually has to _like_ fighting. Not to mention the non-violent verbal fights.

"Great, meanwhile let's get some breakfast, I'm starving," he moves to the door, Castiel following, and he throws a small smile at his angel as they head out and down the corridor.

Sam sighs, collecting the ingredients off the table and putting them in a tin box in his bag, before heading out after his brother. He blinks, pleasantly surprised when he sees Gabriel waiting by the door, hands in pockets, small smirk in place, but honey gold eyes shrewd and vivid as always. It has to be an angel thing, Sam thinks, unable to look away for a moment – that perfect honey hue, too bright and clear to be human, just like Castiel's downright _celestial_ blue, the depth of that gaze, as if it encompasses and transcends all, while able to see into every atom as well.

"You coming?" he asks, locking the door and trying to sound casual as he finally manages to look away – he's _not_ about to follow Dean into the epic eye-gazing fits with an angel.

"Sure, you muttonheads are fun to be around, especially when I can mess with your food."

"Great."

"Aww, c'mon, moose! Lighten up!" Gabriel chirps as he walks cheerily by his side as they catch up with Dean and Castiel in the parking lot.

Dean grumbles a 'finally', as if he'd spent at least half an hour there, and gets into the car, sliding into the diver's seat. Castiel hovers by the other side of the Impala, peering expectantly and patiently at Sam. The shotgun is Sam's seat – has been for a long time, but every now and then (usually when Sam has pissed off his brother), Cas gets to ride it. He doesn't seem to mind sitting in the back, but the calm loyalty to the bond between the brothers, with which he will wait and let Sam make the choice, adjusting himself to it, makes Sam feel guilty. Castiel does that, those little good things that cause this reaction.

Sam smiles at him and heads for the backseat, and the small, pleasantly surprised smile on the angel's – on his friend's – face feels like too much for something so small and stupid. He turns to Gabriel to voice his presumption that they'll see him at the diner, but he's met with an empty space beside him, a gentle breeze touching his face as he hears a waft of wings.

So that's a yes, then.

Sam gets into the backseat, smiling as he watches Dean briefly run a loving hand through Castiel's hair, the angel scooting a bit closer to the hunter in the front. His brother is happy – really happy, not torn between happiness and duty, which was the closest Dean ever got to happiness until recently. Sam can see a renewed strength in him, a youth that should always have been there, because Dean _is_ young, and a new sort of peace. Because finally Dean has it all – the duty he never will abandon, and the happiness.

The love.

Even when things go bad, Dean and Castiel will still have each other, Sam knows this with unwavering certainty. Cas said it – profound bond. Simple as that.

Still smiling, Sam looks out the window as the Impala rolls down the streets, Dean navigating to the diner. Apparently, Gabriel will be able locate them, or rather, to locate Cas. Which means also locating the Winchesters, or at least Dean.

But to find him _already waiting_ in the diner, is a little surprising. Especially because there are two others in the town, and Sam wonders how the hell could Gabriel have known which one they were going to choose.

"What took you so long!" the archangel whines loudly, attracting a few gazes from the nearby tables.

Like Sam, Dean for a moment looks stunned, but Castiel indifferently makes his way over to his brother, and the hunters follow. Dean sits beside Cas, which leaves Sam to take a place next to Gabriel in the booth.

"Really, Cassy, how can you stand the slow rides?" Gabriel complains.

"Why must you always be so obnoxious?" Dean growls, rolling his eyes.

Gabriel leans back defiantly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, I'm the middle child, what's your excuse?"

Dean blinks.

"You're what now?"

Gabriel sighs, rolling his eyes very demonstratively, and leans forward this time, holding out a loosely closed hand.

"Michael is the oldest – the first of the Angel Princes," he says with mocking grandeur as he begins to count off on his fingers. "Then came Luci, then me, then Raphael, and after that the rest of the angels. So I fit right in the middle."

There is a moment of silence at the table as they all consider it – well, except Castiel, Sam thinks, that's hardly news for him. Then, a realisation falls on Sam, and unfortunately he says it out loud – in a very Dean fashion – before he can consider the emotional consequences.

"So now you're the last of the archangels," it's a statement of an obvious fact, but one that has slipped his notice until now that he actually thought about it.

Gabriel's gaze abruptly catches his own, and there's such a raw, burning intensity in it for a moment that Sam looks away, feeling as if he's peering into the sun itself, blinding him and disabling him from making out any coherent image, any actual emotion. Then, Gabriel's stance relaxes just as suddenly as it had tensed, and he smirks with a casual shrug.

"Yep. Survival of the fittest," he strikes a glorious, hail-me-ye-all pose, grinning smugly. "And, baby, I'm _fit_."

"Mhm," Sam gives an appeasing (and maybe a little bit patronising, if he actually dared to patronise an archangel) nod, turning to his menu, while Dean just rolls his eyes.

Still, it's not exactly untrue, Gabriel – or his vessel – _does_ seem rather fit, especially by comparison with his nutrition habits. His small, slightly bony frame always has this undercurrent of strength, and while that probably is an effect of the archangel holed up in there, he also seems rather slim under the clothes, just as he did when swathed in that white fabric when he was resurrected, _and what the hell am I thinking?_ Sam shakes himself out of the abstract wanderings of his mind, and focuses on the menu.

As per usual, Castiel doesn't eat, but Gabriel has no such qualms and orders himself a lavish sundae, much to his younger brother's disapproval. Dean opts for his usual heart attack on a plate, while Sam has toasts with jam, because the weird donuts dream got him in the mood for something sweet.

"So walk me through this, Angel Prince," Dean turns to Gabriel as he swallows. "How is your Horn gonna help things if shit hits the fan and someone gets their hands on the Angels Tablet?"

Gabriel takes his time, licking whipped cream off a strawberry before popping the fruit in his mouth, munching on it for a moment.

"Basically, muttonhead, the Horn is meant to connect the finite with the infinite – or the divine with the profane, if you will. Now see, like I said, it can play more than one melody. The Gates of Heaven are the divine, the infinite – on Judgment Day I am supposed to play so they open as the finite world vanishes and the only things left are the Heaven and Hell. The Horn moulds reality, in a way, by drawing from the infinite realm. It's like the mechanics of Heaven and Earth are moved by specific sounds. And only my Horn can do it, because it in itself connects the finite – on the outside – and the infinite, on the inside. So when someone tampers with the Gates of Heaven, I have the power to undo it."

Dean nods as he slowly processes the lecture, while Sam sits still, forgetting the piece of toast in his hand as he listens to Gabriel's words, absorbing each and every one of them right into his memory. He's looked a lot into the Horn of Gabriel lore over the years, and he still can't quite really get over the fact that he's held the thing in his hands, and even tried to play it. And that his breath will remain in it _forever_. There's something powerful about it that makes a tingle run up his spine when he thinks about it, filling him with some sense of reverent humility.

He remembers about the toast only a few minutes later when, having gone through his sundae, Gabriel eyes it and brazenly takes it out of Sam's hand, munching it up.

* * *

"Zay… da… ra…" stammers Dean, squinting into his own handwritten text, and every syllable drops on Sam's head like a hammer. "Om… tay… zaek… sij…"

Sam grits his teeth and furiously stares into his laptop screen, trying to finally focus on the sentence he's read four times already. Dean's halting Enochian continues to pound in an unbearably monotonous rhythm.

That is to say, Sam is of course thrilled his brother is learning a language, especially such a useful one. He can hear the authentic effort in Dean's reciting, and he can also hear that he's subconsciously pitching his voice lower, slightly mimicking Castiel's gravelly tone. It's really adorable (an opinion that he should keep to himself if he values his teeth), but Sam really would prefer Dean doing his homework some other time than when he's trying to get on with his book on angels. Or at least if Dean was doing it in his own room, since he has one this time.

"An… zay… re- oh, crap," Dean snatches a pen an scribbles something in the notebook, gifting his brother with a few moments of precious silence.

Sam puffs out a quiet, slow breath of tentative relief, almost not willing to believe his luck when Dean goes back to the text in relative silence, only half-whispering and half-murmuring under his breath as he traces the lines of writing with the pen. Good. With more focus this time, Sam quickly reads the few paragraphs of his own text on the screen, and consults them with some of his own handwritten notes scribbled in a scrappy notebook he uses for drafting the first versions of his _Compendium_, as well as a stash of random, unrelated facts he overhears, encounters or otherwise comes to know.

After returning from the diner breakfast, Castiel flew off to carry on with his penance, which left Dean petulantly watching TV in Sam's room. On his part, Sam was very contently drafting and arranging the chapters on archangels and Gabriel in particular, the archangel at first answering his questions, spinning a tale or two and sitting obediently like a nice, well-behaved little angel, but soon got bored. After failing to whine Sam into another round of PlayStation (offering a staggering array of games), he fidgeted some more, tried to bother Dean, was (exceptionally wisely) ignored and eventually left, promising loosely to get back 'when things pick up around here'.

Which left Sam having to postpone primary source research on archangels, and going back to what he himself has gathered over the years. That's plenty, too, and he needs to arrange it all in some vague order before he writes it down in the ledger. Yeah, hunters' journals are usually wild, chaotic and disorganised, and while, inevitably, _Compendium Angelorum_ bears those traits, Sam wants at least a semblance of order, if only for his own benefit when he fervently tries to look up some angel fact with a blade or sigil threatening to evaporate him from existence.

As to Dean, almost as soon as Gabriel had left, he took out his Enochian homework and started working on it, to which Sam hid a smirk behind his laptop screen. If Dean was hiding it from someone who could potentially mock him (Gabriel) it meant he was emotionally invested in it, and also very much devoted to it.

Holding a finger on an opened book, Sam pulls the cap off his pen with his teeth, and scrawls quickly in the notebook.

_Gabe – Sept. 29th, "God is strong/God is my strength". Messenger, flame – 'his eyes as flame', walking on flame (Rossetti, 1850), flaming archangel sword, white lily, reign over Moon. Messenger of God, but destruction of Assyrian troops – what about Michael?! Gabriel's Horn._

Sam frowns, eyes scanning a text devoted to Gabriel's Horn – according to it, Gabriel carried the beloved instrument always with him, and God himself warned him not to blow it too soon. That's not what Sam has seen – Gabriel doesn't seem too fond of the Horn, there is a certain air of unease about him when the artefact is in the room, as if he wants it gone again. True, humans tend to idealise angels (doesn't _he_ know that! Most of them are _nothing_ like he'd imagined. Hell, _none_ of them are!), but he thinks Gabriel's fondness of the Horn cannot be entirely fictional. He wonders what changed… perhaps the disappointment and the heartbreak of leaving his family. The disappointment in God. Or maybe the shame of running away.

Or both.

Sam knows how it feels to be driven to desperation so strong that he actually rips himself out of the family bonds, running away. True, he held out considerably shorter than Gabriel and was quickly found by his father and taken back more or less complacently, but still… That very moment when he _did_ run away. That moment when he actually ran. The liberation and the guilt were exhilarating.

Dean's sudden loud recital of an Enochian sentence snaps Sam out of his thoughts, and he peers startled at his beaming brother.

"Ha!" Dean adds triumphantly. "I rock at this, Sammy!"

"Yeah, well – rock quieter."

"Hey, you'll be glad when I take an angel curse off your ass!"

"Right, like Cas or Gabe wouldn't do it faster," Sam rolls his eyes.

"I'm sorry, _Gabe_?" Dean asks, arching his eyebrows in angry disbelief.

Sam feels like he's about to blush, and he doesn't even have the time to wonder why. The nickname just sort of slipped out naturally, it was lingering on the tip of his tongue all day ever since he addressed Gabriel by it in the dementedly stupid conversation they were having in his dream. He doesn't know why, but he sort of… really, really likes the idea of this familiarity with the archangel. Gabriel sure has grown on him – apart from the heartbreaking death by Lucifer, he's actually not half bad and a lot of fun to be around. That is, when Sam's not on the receiving end of his more creative and reality-augmenting sense of humour.

But bottom line, Gabriel is definitely OK in his book. Yeah, more than OK – he's pretty cool, and definitely a handy ally. He's a nice brother to Cas, too, which matters, because Cas is family.

"Uh… Dunno, man, keeping up with the Team Free Will one-syllable names?" Sam shrugs now, attempting at casual. "Dean, Sam, Cas… so Gabe, right?"

"Oh, so he's on Team Free Will now?" Dean does that haughty thing with a spark of mirthless humour in his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and Sam fights the urge to groan.

"Yeah, well – why not?" he asks defiantly instead. "He died for us, Dean. And now he's helping. So I think – I dunno – we could give him a chance, I guess."

"I don't freaking believe it."

"Dude, come on – he's _helping_, yeah? And he's an archangel, _the_ archangel now, he's probably the most powerful thing in the world now, so I don't know why you don't wanna keep him on our side," he tries to reason, because he knows the 'let's keep him, he's powerful' option is gonna fly better with Dean than 'let's keep him, he's nice and I like him'.

Dean grunts, but Sam is relieved to see there's not so much heated resistance in his eyes anymore, and his stance seems to loosen up a little as well.

"Well, he's not Team Free Will. More like an intern," he grumbles, and Sam grins happily.

Looks like the Team might become a quartet after all.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed :)**

**Reviews are beloved!**


	7. Cas' books

**New chapter :) Some mild Sabriel development here, and also I stocked up on Destiel, because the next chapter doesn't get much fluff, it's mostly action and supernatural stuff happening.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Sam huffs rhythmic breaths, their pace matched to the monotonous, fast work of his abdominal muscles in synch with biceps and triceps heaving him off the floor and lowering him almost completely onto it again as he does push-ups. Regular workout is a hunter's routine, and he needs to keep himself fit and flexible if he wants to live a little bit longer, hence he's taken the opportunity to exercise in the morning, since after breakfast they're heading to the bat-cave to prepare for the searching ritual there.

_51… 52… 53…_, he counts in his mind steadily, muscles working with satisfactory reliability although not without effort. He's almost done, and about time, because he can feel the sweat coating his skin in a thin layer as he works out only in the boxers serving him as pyjamas in warm summer.

_54… 55_-

"Oh, Jesus!" he huffs out a startled yelp, dropping perhaps a little gracelessly onto the floor, as out the corner of his eye he catches a looming shape on the table, and has finally glanced to find it's Gabriel, sitting back and looking like he's enjoying himself a bit too much.

The archangel smirks.

"Don't stop on my account," he hums with a wink, honey gold eyes roaming appreciatively over Sam's bare back and torso as he sits up, and Sam blushes, suddenly feeling exposed and almost damn indecent.

He clears his throat, getting off the floor, and turns around, trying to hide the flush of pink on his face, which has nothing to do with the workout. He snatches a clean T-shirt out of his bag and pulls it on, even though he knows he's gonna have to shower and change again because of the sweat.

"What are you doing here, Gabe?" he experiments with the nickname to see how it flies with the archangel. He also decides _not_ to ask how long he's been watching him. It's some creepy angel thing to watch people when they sleep or exercise, apparently.

"Oh, I just popped by to see how you're doing," no reaction to the nickname, and Sam decides it means he can keep it. "And I got you a little something," he hops off the table, and produces a small phial from his jacket pocket. "Tah-dah! Fearful tears of a second-born son, so that poor Sammy doesn't have to go see scary clowns."

Sam blinks, staring at the archangel who is currently beaming, very pleased with himself and offering the phial in an outstretched hand.

"Uh…" he starts eloquently, because he's surprised by this whole thing, and reaches out to take the tears. "Thanks, thanks a lot," he rushes with belated gratitude, and looks at the tears. His brain is back in order now, and forms a very valid and slightly disturbing question. "Uh… do I want to know how you got these?" he asks, raising one eyebrow fearfully.

"Mmmm…" Gabriel rocks on the balls of his feet, looking up musingly into the ceiling. "Not if you like kids."

"…Okay…"

"Ooh, which reminds me," Gabriel livens up in what looks like unhealthy excitement. "I got the breath, too!"

"_Gabriel_!" Sam squawks, terrified as to how the archangel might have obtained a child's _breath_, if the tears already are a suspicious deal.

"_Kidding_," Gabriel holds up his hands to demonstrate he has nothing in them, placating Sam with a roll of eyes. "You're such a wimp… You and Dean-o can get the breath."

"Thanks…" Sam breathes out some relief, and goes over to his bag again, depositing the phial with the tears in his tin box rattling with other ingredients. All that's missing are the breath and the blood. "Hey, I know you said you can't look for the astrolabe, so how come you can help out with the spell?"

"It doesn't count, it's a spell, not actual searching. But for it to work, I need to leave as soon as it's done, before it shows the way. I can't see where it points to," Gabriel shrugs. "So you chuckleheads better call me as soon as you dig up the thing."

"So…" Sam hesitates, not quite sure how to word the question, and also not quite sure what he wants to ask and find out, really… he just knows he wants something here. "You're, what… you're hanging out with us once it's done?"

"Why not?" Gabriel shrugs again, smirk in place.

"I… dunno, I guess – you could do anything, go anywhere. Or… are you… you know – going back to Heaven?"

A frown falls over Gabriel's features, his bright eyes narrowing slightly as they peer into Sam's with a hint of penetrating shrewdness that definitely reveals the familial relation to Castiel. But there's more than that, there is a glint of hard, absolute steel in the archangel's gaze, as if a firm resolution made a while ago is resurfacing now, clashing with an adversarial suggestion. And Sam may gulp a little at some point, because – wrath of the archangel? He's seen it happen when Dean brought Chuck to the motel room where he was with Lilith, and yeah, he's not keen to be on the receiving end of that.

"Why did you think I would go back?" Gabriel asks now, his voice guarded, almost warning, and Sam shifts a little.

"I… I just… you're the last archangel, Gabriel," he plunges in, feeling suicidal. "So I sort of figured the – uh – _succession_ falls to you."

"That's a quaint little term, but no. It does, but what do you think I'd do – go back to Heaven?" Gabriel's eyes are wide and filled with light of bitterness and hurt, and his voice becomes raw as he shakes his head. "Take charge over the angels, fight to re-establish order, lead what's left of the Heavenly Legions… wear Michael's armour?" he shakes his head again, swallowing. "No, kiddo," he whispers. "I'm not up for that."

Sam nods, looking down, instantly stricken with guilt.

"Yeah, I'm not cut out for that, I'll just stay Daddy's little runaway," Gabriel puts on a more casual tone, and Sam glances up to see him rested back against the table. He's looking at him contemplatively, as if wondering about something, and Sam waits, not quite sure what to do with himself. "What did it feel like, Sammy?" Gabriel finally asks, his voice surprisingly soft.

"What did what feel like?" Sam asks, but there's a cold clench in his chest already, because he knows what Gabriel is asking about.

"Yeah, you do," crap, the dude can read minds. "So tell me."

Sam huffs out a half-frustrated breath, lifting one hand and making a vague gesture, trying to grasp at his own thoughts, string them together into speech, not knowing where to begin. He sits in the slightly damaged armchair and bites his lip.

"When I ran away… I… it was amazing. And horrible. And it was the most high, intense feeling, it felt like it could… _carry_ me, like I was flying, it felt like I could run forever and never stop, because this sensation was so powerful. The glory and the guilt. It was… like breathing more than I ever did before. I was free, I honestly thought I was burning a bridge, and it was terrifying and wonderful, like I could soar but had a fear of heights at the same time."

Gabriel listens, watching him, honey coloured eyes again filled with light and gold. He stays quiet, not cracking any jokes or smart-ass remarks, and Sam is grateful for it, just keeping the eye contact with the archangel and suddenly feeling relieved.

As if he found someone who _understands_.

"Yeah… that's about it, isn't it? I'm just holding out longer than you did," Gabriel offers a small smile. "That, and I'm better at hiding. A couple of the angels up there know I'm back, but they're not gonna find me. Master of disguise," he waggles his eyebrows.

"Yeah, you are. Hey, Gabe – why the janitor job? You know, when we first met you. Why did you pose as a janitor of all things?" Sam asks, because he's been wondering about that a few times since finding out that Gabriel is an all-powerful archangel.

"Trying to keep a low profile, bonehead?"

"Yeah, I know, but you could have had a thousand other jobs and still keep a low profile and live like a king with your Trickster powers, so why?"

"I tried a lot of jobs over the centuries, kiddo…"

"I get it, but why-"

There's a breeze and Sam is stopped mid-sentence, Gabriel suddenly straddling him in the chair and pinching his lips together into an involuntary impression of a duck beak.

"_I'm_ talking now," he lectures, and Sam yelps in his throat, because _there's a dude sitting on him_! He feels a flush of heat creep up his neck and cheeks, and he stares at Gabriel who just leans a little bit back, making himself more comfortable, but neither letting go of Sam's lips _nor_ getting off of him. "So yeah, I got into various jobs just for kicks, and I kinda liked that one – you see a lot when no one's paying attention to you and when you have no deciding voice in anything. I got to see the best and the worst you lot can be – and when I see the best, I of course mean the funniest."

"Mmm-hm-hmmm," Sam's abilities of expression are somewhat limited at the moment.

Gabriel grins and tilts his head, observing Sam's face, and Sam tries to be as indignant as possible to clearly show Gabriel that he wants to at least restore his mouth. Why is that a priority, and not getting an archangel out of a somewhat compromising position on his hips, he's not gonna question right now.

"You know, you look kinda funny like that," Gabriel observes, and pinches his lips a little bit more. "Quack-quack!"

And really, this is just too much.

* * *

Dean freaking loves showering with Cas. The hot water, the soft steam, the closeness, languid kisses and hands roaming over bodies in lather, and the way Castiel washes his back with absolute care, tenderness and damn heart-swelling dedication. And the way he returns the favour by washing all of Cas very thoroughly, and especially his hair.

Dean grins, working up foam on Castiel's head, and plays with his hair, shaping it into mohawks, bangs and horns, running his hands over the silky wet smoothness, while Castiel just stands there with a small smile, allowing Dean his silly indulgences. Dean grins and leans in, capturing his angel's lips in a kiss, biting on the lush, plump lip, and hums contently as he deepens the kiss. Cas' hands wander over his back, sliding in the soap and water, pulling him closer, and Dean eagerly complies, gaining himself even more access to Castiel's mouth. He runs his hands down Cas' sides, tracing the perfect shapes, till he stops at the hips, running his thumbs over the sharp, jutting hipbones that have very quickly become his obsession ever since he's first seen them.

They pull away, ending the kiss, and Dean thoroughly rinses Cas' hair, careful not to let any water or shampoo get into his angel's eyes, even though somewhere in the back of his mind he knows Cas wouldn't feel any stinging. He takes his time, massaging Cas' head, and Cas' eyes close slowly, a small, lazy smile appearing on his lips while a quiet, contended hum starts up in his throat, slow and very alike to purring. This image, of Castiel so relaxed, quietly happy, eyes trustingly closed, somehow feels so precious that the air in Dean's lungs shrinks, pushed out by what feels like his swelling heart. He smiles and presses a kiss to his angel's forehead. The blue eyes open and blink at him, lit up with peace.

"Come on," Dean murmurs, wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist and pulling him closer, pressing them together under the warm water. "We have to head out soon, better get dressed and pack up."

"Hmm," Castiel responds, leaning in and kissing him, and hell, how can Dean say no to that? It's not like five more minutes is gonna make a difference…

Castiel apparently has decided that it won't make a difference, because he's kissing Dean slow and languid, his hands running down his back, massaging out a sore spot or two, and Dean relaxes completely.

Soon after the kiss is over, they get out of the shower, towel off and get dressed, one of them faster thanks to the angel mojo. They head out and swing by Sammy's room to collect him, only to find out that Gabriel has decided to give car riding a shot.

And that would be where Dean's awesome relaxing morning starts taking a nosedive.

Sam placates, promising he'll ride in the back with Gabriel to try some damage control, and when Castiel whispers in Dean's ear that Gabriel could fly into the Impala anyway, Dean gives up protests. He regrets that very soon.

Gabriel is the worst passenger _ever_, and Dean's had some pretty intense, awkward, sickening and insane drives in his life. At first the archangel just sits and whines, but soon he progresses to tampering. He switches the music to the _Hakuna Matata_ song _and_ sings along (even if he's got a not half bad voice it's still annoying as hell), then goes about repeatedly changing Castiel's hair colour, which leads to a brief freak thunderstorm appearing over and moving along with the Impala for a few moments. After the small angelic-brotherly spat Gabriel again whines that the ride is so slow he's getting a motion sickness, after which he spectacularly announces he's going to vomit. Upon hearing this Dean slams on the brakes and yells at Gabriel to get out, because he's _not_ going to have second-hand candy smeared all over the upholstery. It works and the archangel leaves with a promise of catching up with them in the cabin serving as Team Free Will's HQ.

They arrive late at night, Dean and Sam tired and Cas probably horribly bored by the long drive. He never says anything, but Dean can sometimes see it in his eyes.

Luckily the Batcave is archangel-free, so Dean at least can rest in peace. After a brief cleanup and changing visit to the bathroom, he heads to his bedroom, quickly making up the bed that he likes to think is now his and Cas'. Yeah, he's nesting like hell, but honestly he's past caring. His angel is still in the living room where he ensconced himself before the TV as soon as they arrived, so Dean goes to fetch him.

"Alright, I'm gonna hit the hay," he says, standing behind the sofa where Cas is seated, peering at the screen. He can hear the water running in the bathroom, and he knows Sammy is going to bed soon as well. "You coming?"

Castiel looks over his shoulder and then turns off the TV, getting up from the sofa already in his sleeping attire, and Dean smiles at that. Seeing Cas wear anything else than his trademark trench coat and suit still feels weird, but a good kind of weird. Especially because he pulls off the T-shirt-and-boxers look really, _really_ well.

Actually…

"C'mere," Dean holds out a hand as an idea pops into his mind.

Castiel obediently approaches, and Dean flashes a small grin, taking the hem of Castiel's white tee and pulling it up and off over Cas' head, the black hair easily becoming even more messed. His angel shoots him a confused and insecure look, the blue eyes slipping in the direction of the bathroom and back to Dean again.

"Dean… Sam is right there…" he hesitates, and Dean laughs a little, ruffling his hair lovingly.

"Not what I had in mind, but hold that thought till tomorrow," he winks at his angel before going for his Black Sabbath T-shirt he'd spotted nearby.

Grinning, he pulls it onto the still puzzled Castiel, and takes a step back, admiring his work. Damn, that T-shirt never looked so good before…! Cas is looking at him with those doe eyes and that cocked head, and Dean chuckles, because this gaze is just so pricelessly clueless.

"Always wanted to do this."

"Dean, I do not understand…"

"You look great. Now come on, before I keel over," he gives a massive yawn that he realises has been creeping up on him for a good few minutes now, and leads his angel to their bedroom.

* * *

Dean wakes up slowly, with a deep-rooted sense of peace and knowing that he has nothing in particular to do today. He takes in a slow, deep breath, inhaling the scent as he just might be nuzzling his pillow, and he can't help a small smile from creeping onto his lips – the sheets and covers smell of warmth, sleep, a hint of dust and also now they smell of Cas. A vague, blurred thought 'home' glimpses through his mind before he can catch it, and, for once, with shy hope, he lets it get away, does not pursue it, hunt it and banish it. He just… lets it be.

With a contented hum, he stretches slightly, and reaches out an arm to wrap around Cas, pull his angel close and maybe even snuggle. But his hand hits the empty mattress.

His eyes snap open instantly, because it isn't usual for Castiel to leave the bed before Dean wakes up if they sleep together. He sits up, quickly scanning the room with his eyes, till he notices a sheet of paper placed on Castiel's pillow. The headline, written with Sam's scrawls, is enormous and done in a thick red marker, and reads _DON'T PANIC! _Below, in smaller letters, Sam deigns to elaborate: _I took your angel out for a run. We'll be back around 10.00._

Dean groans, flopping back onto the bed, and flicks the paper off to the ground with a grimace. Trust Sam to cockblock him even _before_ he wakes up. That's gotta be a record. And now Sammy is slowly roping Cas into morning jogs and all that hippie shit? He's got to watch out more for his angel.

Yawning, he glances at the alarm clock – it's nine thirty-ish, and he's not yet hungry enough to actually get out of bed. Threading his hands behind his head, he once again lets his eyes rove over the room, only this time he does it contemplatively, taking in the familiar surroundings. As glad as he was to have his own room, he didn't feel weird about sharing it with Cas, although asking his angel if he'd like to, was awkward as hell. Dean's not good with words.

It works out well though. Cas doesn't bitch about the mess Dean makes, but he keeps the few items he now owns in a neat state of order. The shelves now house some new books, most of them novels (Cas is fond of Kipling, Verne, and has recently discovered Agatha Christie – the chick had balls and one disturbing imagination, but Cas claims her books are fascinating as a study of human behaviour), and Dean is glad to see them there, tucked in between his own books. There's a small sigil made out of wrapped wires, hanging in the window – a protection, a box or two of jigsaw puzzles, because Cas likes them (apparently they're relaxing, but Dean's patience just fuses out, especially when he once tried doing the 'sky at night 1000 pieces' one with Cas), and every now and then, when going through some papers, Dean encounters something scribbled in Enochian. The journal that he'd given Cas, is usually in the right pocket of the trench coat, along with a pen, and Dean smiles, satisfied that the present is such a valued possession for his angel.

They're little things, all of that, and they are good.

His stomach rumbles, so he gets out of bed, navigating to the kitchen, not bothering to change out of his sleeping clothes, which happen to be just a pair of boxers. The fridge doesn't have much good news for him – an expired block of something that once must have been cheese, a couple of beers, a suspicious substance enclosed in a jar, but also eggs, milk, butter and a few slices of bacon still lingering on the verge of edibility. So poached eggs on bacon it is, Dean decides as he brings out the frying pan.

Looks like it's supplies run today, and he hopes Sammy can do it, because he's made up his mind to be completely lazy today, and scouring the Wal-Mart for an organic brand of Sam's friggin' _tofu_ would certainly clash with that.

The butter melts on the pan, and he drops the bacon, his mouth watering as the sizzle carries the smell up to his nose. Dean likes to cook, yeah, but he's not gonna admit it. He's been at it for years, making quick but filling meals for Sammy since they were kids, and every now and then he likes to cook up something on his own instead of hitting the nearest diner or drive-thru.

The door slams just as the eggs are ready and on their way from the pan to Dean's plate, and he instinctively assumes a guarded glare, because he knows a Sammy after exercise is a bottomless Sammy who will kill for anything to eat. And the only edible thing left in the fridge is one raw egg and a quart of milk.

"Oh good, you're up," Sam huffs out, still catching his breath as he strolls into the kitchen, face shining with sweat and hair damp. "You made breakfast?"

"Get your own," Dean protectively shields the plate with an arm.

"Well, I would if you'd left anything for me," Sam bitches as he counts the eggs on Dean's plate and does the math.

"Then you gotta go shopping."

Sam huffs, but Dean doesn't pay attention anymore, because Cas strolls in, and Dean just has to chuckle – he ran the exact same distance as Sammy, but the only sign of any effort on him is a slight flush on his face and tousled hair. He's still wearing the Black Sabbath T-shirt Dean put on him last night, and he also appears to have borrowed Dean's sweatpants. He trails his eyes over his angel's form appreciatively, the clothes suit him and make him look… different. In a way that makes Dean forget the breakfast for a moment, because he's got something _much_ better to concentrate on.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel smiles slightly.

"Hey. How was your run?"

"It was very pleasing," Castiel smiles again. "I quite enjoyed it. I think I may try it on more occasions."

"Huh," Dean forks some of his breakfast into his mouth. It's OK., Cas is almost always sleeping with him now anyways, so if he skips out on a morning or two every now and then, that's no biggie. Don't cling, Dean.

_Smoke on the water_ rings from the sofa, and Dean gets up from the chair, making a show of asking Cas to guard his breakfast against Sam. He fishes the phone out of his jacket thrown onto the sofa, and glances at the caller ID – Kevin.

"Hey, what's up, any progress?"

"No, that's not why I'm calling… it's, uh, it's still going slow…" Kevin sounds a bit freaked out, and Dean steels himself for a battle against encroaching mental instability.

"What's going on?" he asks, trying to sound reassuring.

"Uh… is- is Castiel there?" Kevin asks in a weird, skippy voice.

Dean glances over his shoulder into the kitchen and smirks, seeing Cas seated at the table, plate cradled in his hands protectively. Sam flails his arms in exasperation, then makes a 'just this small!' gesture with his thumb and index finger, pointing pleadingly at Dean's (by now cooling off) breakfast, but Cas just adorably shakes his head. Dean freaking loves this guy.

"Yeah, he's here."

"Great, can I, uh, talk to him?"

Dean blinks.

"Sure. Hold on," he walks back into the kitchen, holding out the phone. "Hey, Cas, it's Ke-"

"I know it's Kevin," Castiel cuts him off as if Dean's being overly obvious, and takes the phone from him, while Dean sits down to finish his breakfast. "Hello, Kevin."

"Uh, hi, Castiel," Kevin Tran's voice sounds shaky in Castiel's ear, and he frowns, focusing. The prophet is a good young man, but perhaps somewhat too easily plunged into doubt and fear.

"Is there a problem, Kevin?" he enquires.

"Uh, I think I just met someone from your family…" Kevin says hesitantly, sounding slightly out of breath, and Castiel's attention instantly sharpens, grace reaching out to sense any angelic dangers or interferences inflicted upon the prophet.

"How do you mean?" he asks, perturbed when sensing a presence but without details.

"I went out to stretch my legs, and there was this demon, and I was out of bombs, and then suddenly there was this bright, white light, like burning white, and the whole place started shaking, and the Demon just, uh, _exploded_… and then there was this short guy, he just sort of waved at me, said something about cupcakes, and was gone, with the wings sound."

"That would be Gabriel," Castiel responds, calmed considerably, but his words have the reverse effect on both Winchesters who halt their food squabble and whip their heads towards him instantly, alarmed. "He is an archangel, which means he is tied to your safety. He will appear when you are threatened… well, he _should_ appear," he feels obliged to at least hint at his older brother's… _unreliable_ character.

"So he's a good guy?" Kevin asks.

Castiel thinks about the TV land entrapment and Dean's repeated deaths, which he knows about, but decides to reply affirmatively. After all, Gabriel's heart is good.

After he disconnects, he holds out the phone to Dean who has finished his breakfast.

"So… Gabe saved Kevin?" Sam asks.

"Yes. I hope he chooses to continue protecting the prophet, it would increase our chances of closing the Gates of Hell."

"Huh. Good to know," Dean remarks, putting the phone on the table.

"Alright, I'm gonna hit the shower," Sam announces. "And then we are _all_ going shopping," he adds in a tone that is supposed to threaten, though Castiel does not see why the declared prospect would be unwelcome. He knows of Dean's reluctance to shop for supplies, but he doesn't understand it.

"No way, I did the last supply run," Dean now predictably protests, crossing his arms over his chest, and Castiel thinks he'd prefer if Dean hadn't done that – the gesture shields some of his torso from view, and Castiel very much enjoys tracing the smooth, well proportioned shapes with his eyes, wishing they were alone so he could also trace them with his hands.

"But you ate everything in the fridge," Sam persists.

"I don't care, I did the last supply run, I'm not going!"

"Rock-paper-scissors."

"No."

"_Rock-paper-scissors_," Sam pressures Dean into the bizarre ritual Castiel has numerously witnessed pass between the brothers whenever something unwelcome is to be decided.

After fruitlessly attempting to comprehend the logic behind the game (how can a paper defeat a rock?), Castiel had finally asked Dean who explained that the rules are rules and that's it, because there can't be a tie in this game. Personally, Castiel can't really see how can this method be a fair way of solving a problem, but he doesn't argue with it, because he knows Dean would just groan and lose his patience. Castiel thinks it's because Dean secretly knows all of his points are perfectly valid.

Dean continues to shake his head, arms firmly crossed over his chest, until Sam finally relents, hissing a not entirely untrue statement about Dean's childishness, and eventually retreats to the shower.

Castiel watches Dean – clad only in his boxers, the smooth curve of his strong back shining subtly where the light lays over it, touching his skin and colouring it with a vague shade of honey, as if the sun itself professes its love for the Righteous Man. Castiel knows that the skin on Dean's back feels smooth, even if it is marked by several scars, brief bright lines scratching over the flesh, but intangible under Castiel's wanting hands whenever he runs them over the hard, perfect shapes of Dean's back, relishing the sensation.

He feels a need tingle over his palms, the yearning apparently entering his bloodstream and beginning to warmly course his body with a quiet hum as he watches Dean's perfect, mostly exposed silhouette. He wishes to touch, retrace the well known paths that each time thrill him as if he explored them for the first time, and he thinks that since Sam is about to leave for a considerable length of time…

Castiel reaches out and brushes his fingers slowly down the hollow line curving along the middle of Dean's back, feeling the taut muscles walling the vertebrae, the lightly tanned skin feeling like slightly roughened silk under his fingertips, warm and rich. His beloved turns around to face him, the green of his eyes darkening as he arches with Castiel's touch, bringing their abdomens together in a brush that makes the T-shirt clothing Castiel feel like an uncomfortable, unnatural obstacle.

Flattening his palm over Dean's back and slowly moving it upwards, Castiel allows his lips to curl in a small smirk as he holds Dean's gaze with slightly narrowed eyes. Desire and amusement well up within him with a tickle when he sees Dean bite on his lower lip, his arms going around Castiel, one hand sliding into his hair, running up from the base of his head, spilling a wonderfully fresh, tingling sensation in its wake.

He leans in and slowly kisses Dean, allowing their breaths to mingle in a vague drift of heat just before he captures Dean's lower lip, soon running his tongue over it, and Dean opens his mouth eagerly, and Castiel moans softly as he explores languidly. His body is growing warm, humming with quickened blood, every single brush of fabric becoming acute and heightened, and he can feel Dean's hands skimming over the hem of his borrowed T-shirt, slipping underneath…

Castiel breaks away from the kiss with a gasp, a sharp surge of alert and pleasure spreading over his skin as Dean's hands rove over his stomach, sides, up his rips and reach his chest, pushing the fabric up. Reading his beloved's intentions, Castiel lifts his arms, allowing Dean to pull the T-shirt off, and he moans again as in a flurry of hot breath, Dean leans in to kiss his neck, trailing wetly and hungrily down to his chest. Castiel hums softly along with his hotly singing blood as he runs his hands over Dean's back, burning with the need to touch, and as Dean briefly pulls away he now is the one to trail kisses down Dean's neck, pulling him closer, one hand running through his short hair.

Dean's breaths blow in hot huffs over his skin, and it spurs Castiel on, and he nips gently on Dean's line of pulse, the gasp of his beloved sending a quick rush of pleasure through his own body. He bathes the spot with his tongue and moves to just under the curve of Dean's jaw, where he knows a sensitive point is located, and he smirks, barely brushing his lips over it for a moment, enjoying the keening sound that wrenches itself from Dean's throat, strong arms gripping him tight around the waist, pulling close.

"Oh, come on, guys, you have your own room, damn it!" Sam's exasperated cry slices through the air, and they both jump slightly, turning to see Sam in the corner, head angled up and away from them, a hand demonstratively clamped over his eyes.

Dean huffs out a husky laugh that sends a shiver through Castiel's chest.

"Okay, okay, bitch… at least now you're happy to go shopping, right?" Dean grins, to which Sam blindly (but with astonishing accuracy) shows him the middle finger of his free hand.

"Jerk!" Sam flees.

"I think Sam is right," Castiel speaks, teasingly brushing a hand over the hem of Dean's boxers and enjoying the faint blush tinting the freckled face. "We should go to our room."

Dean's eyes darken again.

"Oh, Cas, I like the way you think…"

* * *

The mysterious reptile tail stinks unbelievably, and Dean groans, leaning away from the old, crackled clay bowl carved with something that looks like Aramaic inscriptions, and which Cas had fetched from god-knows-where (or when) as he vanished for a moment.

"Dude, you sure this thing didn't go bad on you?" Dean wrinkles his nose, looking at Sam who was responsible for safekeeping the ingredients.

"It's supposed to stink like that, Dean-o, Sammy took care of things very nicely," Gabriel pours the fearful tears into the bowl.

"_Thank you_," Sam says, glaring meaningfully at Dean. "Okay, I got the breath, there was a kids' birthday party at McDonald's a couple of days ago, near the Wal-Mart when I went for supplies…" he snips the end off a small balloon, allowing the air to escape over the ingredients in the bowl.

Castiel takes Dean's hand, running the sharp edge of his angel blade over the skin on his palm, and Dean hisses as Cas squeezes the injured hand over the bowl, letting the blood dribble.

"Yeah, help yourself, honey-bee," Dean mutters sarcastically, but Cas doesn't even bat an eyelash. After a moment, he gently opens Dean's hand and runs a finger along the cut, the wound vanishing under the quick touch, all stains of blood gone as well. Dean spares a small glance at his angel, the healing powers and ease never ceasing to surprise him, no matter how many times he had been on their receiving end already.

With all of the ingredients in the bowl, Castiel and Gabriel stand on the opposite sides of the small table and clasp their left hands together over the basin, a hard air of focus falling heavily over the room as they both frown. Castiel glances at Dean and Sam, hesitant for a moment.

"You might want to step back a little," he warns, causing both brothers to jerk abruptly backwards.

The sense of concentration thickens almost palpably as both angels focus on the bowl, silent for a moment before they begin to recite an incantation. Their words fall in complete synchronisation, taut and enclosing an otherworldly sense of power, spoken with such meaning that the sheer force of the sound seems to move the cosmos, put reality into motion and escalation towards an outcome desired by the angels.

Castiel's voice is deep and rough, but with an underlying note of softness, while Gabriel's is hard like steel, unrelenting and slightly higher. They both speak in such perfect sync that their voices seem to mould and merge into one, and Dean for a moment is ready to swear he feels the air and the very matter around him shift as it bends itself into obedience.

With the last word, Castiel and Gabriel let go of each other's hand, a bright, white light suddenly erupting within the bowl, flashing across the room with a loud bang. It's quick as a lightning, but as it appears and vanishes in a split second, Gabriel suddenly is gone, as he said he would be, to avoid jeopardising the search. Dean blinks, adjusting his vision, seeing spots for a moment from the insanely quick brightness, and he turns to look at Cas who is gazing into the bowl, silent, still – waiting.

Dean exchanges a glance with Sammy who just shrugs, the lost-and-insecure-puppy look in his eyes.

"I have the location," Castiel speaks finally, after a moment, his blue eyes intense and focused as he looks up at Dean, briefly flicking to Sam.

"Well – great, where is it?" Dean asks, frowning, because something in Cas' voice puts him on guard.

"The Rocky Mountains in Utah," Castiel replies. He then hesitates, and there it is, this thing that he sometimes does – a spark in his eyes and a remark that Dean very strongly suspects is meant to screw with them, but Cas is too poker-faced for him to be sure. "You might want to bring a shovel."

* * *

**There, I hope you all liked it :D Next chapter the boys go digging and, of course, run into trouble. Demonic trouble.**

**Reviews are positively cherished!**


	8. Blow, Gabriel, blow

**Woof, I'm SO sorry for the delay! My muse went into a stubborn block on this chapter, and I just managed to break through that damn wall. The chapter came out really long, I hope you don't mind :)**

**One more chapter (more of an epilogue really) and the story is done, after that a semi-sequel :)**

**Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

"See, the Rockies are basically disintegrating now, they're old. So that's why a lot of places here look like this, just heaps of rubble. And the old layers of rock and earth are coming up, so since the astrolabe piece's been buried here for millions of years, like Gabriel says, it makes sense that it would be resurfacing now."

"Sammy – I have a shovel. I can dig another hole and toss you in!" Dean growls threateningly as his brother's geological geeky talk begins to get on his nerves.

He shoves another load of smaller (that is, football-sized) rocks aside, and huffs out a breath, thrusting the shovel into a narrow gap in the heap of stone at his feet, and rests his arms on the handle. His body is hot, a trickle of sweat making its way down his back, and he squints under the glaring sun, taking a moment to look around.

As soon as the sun rose, Cas had zapped them to the location he'd gotten from the searching spell. Equipped with shovels, Dean and Sam found themselves on an endless stretch of tilted ground littered with rocks, a vast slope of one of the mountains, close to the peak. Composed of chunks and pieces of grey, broken rocks, the side expands at a smooth angle, so enormous that it dwarfs Dean, Cas and Sam into small, insignificant specks, while being only one slope in the endless, incomprehensible chain of mountains.

The sky is clear, pale blue, the air warm and still, without even a hint of breeze, and it smells of summer, stone and something else, something that Dean thinks might have to do with heights, or with remoteness from any human settlements and exhaust fumes. They're high up, small against the endless landscape, and Dean feels remote in the best and most complete sense of the word – unreachable, away from everything, even the troubles that are actually what brought him here in the first place. They're digging for the astrolabe, yes, but he doesn't feel connected to the whole closing-the-Gates shit right now.

"Dude," Sam kicks a pebble towards him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Break's over, help out, would you?"

"And what have I been doing for the past hour, Sammy?" Dean grumbles, but obediently takes the shovel to the rocks.

They are standing in a rather wide pit they'd dug out over the time – according to Cas' angel sensors, the astrolabe is embedded in a layer of rock that lies beneath the loose debris, and they need to reach it. As to Cas himself, he's not being lazy – he works systematically, without the breaks necessary to Dean and Sam despite their excellent physical conditions, and he does it in focused silence that tells Dean he's constantly connecting with the astrolabe piece lying somewhere beneath their feet.

There is a large boulder, roughly the size of a small car that blocks their way to keep digging, and Cas takes a look at it before he shovels away a few large rock chunks to get better access. He stands behind the boulder, braces his hands against the rough surface and pushes. Dean feels his jaw go somewhat slack as the massive stone grinds over the rocks surrounding it, before slowly beginning to roll down, pulling a small avalanche of rubble along with it as it tumbles down the slope, gaining speed.

Yes, Dean always remembers that Castiel is an angel, complete with wings and powers and everything. But for some reason seeing him use that immense strength is always surprising. And very, very hot.

"Dude, seriously," he hears Sam's bitching beside him, and he glances to see his brother wincing with mild disgust at whatever expression must have appeared on his face.

With a smirk, he scoops some more rocks onto the shovel and tosses them aside. It's OK., after they get the astrolabe and deal with it, he and Cas are gonna get some quality time alone together again…

The shovel gives a skin-crawling scrape as it grinds against a floor of solid rock, and Dean looks down to see that it seems they've hit a layer below all the crumbled topping. Encouraged, he increases the pace, shoving rocks and stones off the surface, clearing out a radius, Sam joining in, while Castiel gravitates to them, eyes eerily focused on the uncovered plane of stone, like he's seeing into it. Which, probably, is exactly what he's doing.

Dean huffs, a droplet of sweat falling from his nose and splashing on the dry, hot rock floor they've uncovered, and he again braces his arms over the shovel, feeling the muscles burn. He wipes his forehead over his forearm, leaving his skin slick and wet, and he pants for a moment, surveying the uncovered surface.

"This enough?" he huffs out, looking up questioningly at Cas who nods slowly, not looking at him, like he's registering Dean's words only somewhere in the back of his mind. Huh. Now Dean's determined to get Cas' full, undivided attention as soon as they're alone.

Yeah, yeah, being jealous of a large slab of rock is probably a new personal low, but whatever.

"Yes, the space is large enough," Cas hops off a large boulder into the clearing, and strolls into the middle, watchfully observing the ground. Dean wonders if he's measuring something.

Cas crouches down, placing a splayed open hand on the flat rock floor, and he frowns in focus, waiting, examining some sensations. His blue eyes are electric, shadowed by the angle of the sun, and while Dean and Sam are both panting and soaked with sweat, Dean's angel is perfectly fresh and unaffected as always, and there even seems to be a light brush of air moving in his black hair.

"Yes, it's here," Castiel finally declares in a quiet, deep voice, and stands up again. He looks at Dean and Sam, and his got that intense-but-slightly-absent look in his eyes, like he's thinking about two things at the same time. "Step back a little," he advises, once again causing them to jerk away. They've seen enough angel explosions to treat such warnings seriously.

Castiel stands in the middle of the roughly cleared space, frowning down on the solid rock in concentration. The silence of the high mountain peaks is deafening, pressing into Dean's ears with _nothingness_, dull, matt and blank, the suspense doing nothing to alleviate it, and Dean realises he's holding his breath in anticipation. Castiel lifts one leg, flexing at the knee, and then forcefully stomps down.

The impact surges through the stone with a jolt of resonance that sends Dean and Sam abruptly swaying, a loud thunder blasting deep within the rock as it cracked, splitting under Castiel's foot.

"Whoa…" Dean mumbles beside a slack-jawed Sam, and they both watch Castiel drop to his knees by one of the wide, deep running gaps and sticks his hand into the void. He keeps leaning in until he's almost lying on the ground, his arm immersed into the gap up to his shoulder, blue eyes hard with focus, till at last a light flashes through them – he's found it.

Dean steps off the stone he's standing on, tentatively takes his first two steps on the crackled clearing, and approaches Cas as his angel straightens up, kneeling on the ground and cradling something in his hands. With Sam peering over his shoulder, Dean leans in and inspects the item that Cas is holding with reverence but also a shadow of discomfort and dislike sweeping at his stance.

It's roughly circular, clustered with dirt and stone-like sediment that clings to it like mould or rust, but flashes of noble metal gleam through, emerging under Castiel's thumbs that slowly break the dirt away. The astrolabe disc is about the size Dean's been expecting – slightly bigger than the centre of his palm, and he can see hints of an intricate pattern under the crust.

Sam makes a strangled sound behind him, and Dean whips around, a gasp of his own escaping him as he sees his brother held in an expert lock by a demon, a knife pressed to his throat as he hisses difficult breaths, hands twisted behind his back.

On instinct, Dean goes for Ruby's knife, but even before his fingers curl around the hilt, he knows he's not gonna be able to do much, because the demon is not the only company they've got. There's roughly ten more of them, and of course headed by none other than Pain In The Ass Crowley.

"'ello, boys," Crowley's voice is soft and suave as always, and it makes Dean's lunch make a move up his digestive system.

"Crowley," Castiel's rough voice is low and careful as he stands up beside Dean, the astrolabe in his hands.

"Nice toy you got there, Blue Eyes," Crowley, hands in blazer pockets, nods towards the disc.

"Hey, hey, hold on," Dean growls, narrowing his eyes, and even as he speaks and takes a covert step nearer to Cas, he skims over the demons, quickly establishing the precise number – eleven, counting Crowley. "Aren't you an overlord? According to the lore, you're supposed to be unable to look for this shit!"

"Oh, I am," Crowley nods, eyebrows up, small smile. "Which is why I'm ever so grateful you boys dug it up for me."

Dean feels his blood boil and he sees red for a moment, but he grits his teeth and tries to get a grip on his rage, because _Sammy has a fucking knife to his throat_!

"So I propose an exchange, I give you the Moose, you give me the nice shiny thing, and we're even," Crowley smiles.

"I will smite you," Castiel growls a warning, and Dean feels a cool, storm-smelling breeze suddenly stir the air, and it seems to get darker around, despite the sun still shining. He can hear a deep, quiet thunder rumble along with Castiel's words.

"You can get your wings out, but, you won't be quicker than the knife," Crowley tips his head indicatively towards Sam. "And I don't think your boyfriend would _ever_ forgive you…" he croons smugly. "So come on, Sophie, your choice."

Castiel narrows his eyes, and Dean notices the stormy breeze doesn't let up. Crowley seems to be aware of it as well and takes it as a challenge, because his eyebrows raise slowly as his head dips in a guarded disbelief. Dean sees the knife press further into Sam's flesh, and he's beginning to question Cas' choice of strategy, when in the next second Cas is _gone_.

Dean blinks, confused as always when his angel suddenly vanishes, and a scream and crackle of hellish light cause him to look towards Sam, where Cas has just dispatched the demon holding him hostage. Sam pounces away, all battle stance, some blood trickling down his neck, but it's only a shallow cut, and the kid is way more concerned with the demons trying to form a circle around them. Dean flips the knife in his hand, edging closer to them, and glances at Cas to see the astrolabe is gone from his hands, so he presumes it's now in one of the trench coat pockets.

For his part, Crowley looks like an outraged host whose favourite plate has just been broken by an inattentive guest's child.

"Well, you brat!" he drawls.

The next moment he's suddenly right in front of Castiel, leaping at him, stolen angel blade in hand, but Castiel is ready and he deftly blocks the assault, coldly looking into Crowley's eyes as they stand inches away from each other for a moment, blades crossed above their heads.

"I'm older than you," he reminds the demon in a growl.

He then pushes Crowley away and assumes a battle stance, arms raised, angel blade glinting malevolently in the sun as he tilts his head, sharp, hard challenge beating out of the intense blue eyes. With a growl, Crowley attacks again.

Before he has to fight off about five demons to save his own hide, Dean notices there's something new in Crowley's attacks. They're virulent, incessant and determined, usually he prefers not to get into battles with his own hands, but this time he launches into the fight against Cas like his life depends on it. He's probably desperate to finally take whatever chance he has to get rid of Castiel who always ends up screwing over him and his plans.

Dean cuts through the nearest demon, and he can hear Sam fire a few shots beside him, holy water bullets hitting the demons surrounding him and attempting to cut him off as Sam tries to recite an exorcism. Dean ducks a right hook blow from another demon, the momentum of a missed collision pulling the demon forward, and Dean quickly straightens up and sinks the knife in his back, pulling out before the crackling even subsides, and jumps aside from another assault. The demon snarls and charges straight at him, but just as Dean prepares to dodge and then plunge the knife, the demon disappears, reappearing quickly by Dean's side, causing him to leap away. It's an instinct, and it lands Dean straight in a vice-like grip of another demon that grabs him by the wrist, squeezing so hard that he can almost feel his bones shift under his skin, but he screams and refuses to let go of the knife, flailing his free arm away from the demon's reach. The other demon lunges forward, and Dean instinctively tenses his muscles to make the incoming blow as bearable as possible-

With a rapid breeze, the demon holding him suddenly staggers, screaming, as a blade slashes through the air, cutting off the hand gripping Dean's wrist, and Dean barely ducks the attack of the other demon, risking some injury just to turn around and see Cas behind him, angel blade stained with blood. It's a split second of a moment, Dean doesn't even catch Castiel's gaze, because it's already focused ahead as his angel, blade-wielding arm still raised, is already spinning around and blocking a hit from Crowley who suddenly snaps into existence mid-flight a charge at Castiel.

They vanish just as quickly as they appeared, Crowley yet again chasing Castiel as they reappear several feet away, and Dean yelps, because that other demon is still kicking, just as are a few of his pals, though most of them focus on Sam, because he's the one reciting.

Having ducked another attack, Dean slashes with the knife as far as he can reach, leaving a long cut across the oncoming demon's collarbone, and in the next moment he jumps backwards, because _holy shit_, the handless demon is also trying to get him! It's a mistake to jump in a rocky terrain, and he learns that very painfully, barely just avoiding a twisted ankle as his foot slips down a boulder, and he sways to catch his balance, a demon appearing instantly beside him.

The blow he gets to his cheekbone isn't really surprising, but it still topples him off the rock, onto the uneven, stony hill, and he can feel the sharp, jagged hardness digging into his ribs, his spine, his back as he lands painfully, dazed for a moment, but always remembering to keep a steady grip on the knife. What _is_ surprising, is that he's had an unusual amount of luck and managed not to hit his head on one of the rocks and knock himself out.

Fighting off the brief haze, he lifts his head and tries to get up, but a foot stomps down on his ribcage, squeezing air out of his lungs, and he feels his ribs buckle to their flexibility limit under the sheer pressure. But it's a tactical mistake on the demons part, and he uses it immediately, cleaving the knife through the ankle, above the mandatory expensive looking dress shoe.

Blood spurts and fiery light crackles, the demon swaying, and Dean instantly pushes him off, jumps forward and thrusts the knife into his throat. Another one down.

Dean realises it's been a while since he'd heard Sammy fire his gun, and he searches out his sasquatch of a brother as he coughs, his chest still feeling strangled. There he is, and he's just shooting again, but he's got four demons around him, and this isn't gonna be pretty. So Dean rushes forward to Sam, climbing the unsteady rocks to return to the plane.

He's just getting to the clearing, when a crushing force plummets into his side, tackling him down, and he collides with the hard, coarse rock. He can feel it hit his hip, shoulder and cheekbone, peeling off some skin and pulsing abruptly with a flare of pain that spreads through his system, and his eyesight catches up with his collapsed balance. He struggles up before the demon who attacked him can strike again, but he's too late, another dizzying blow smashing into the side of his face, sending him to his knees.

In a split second he can see Sammy struggling against all of his opponents, and as he slashes through the air with the knife to ward off another assail, Dean quickly calls out for his angel.

"Cas, help Sam!" he screams in a hoarse voice, and before he defends himself from another hit, he can see Castiel disappearing from where he's fighting Crowley. What he also sees, is that Crowley suddenly vanishes as well.

Dean howls in pain as the demon grabs him by the right wrist and twists it, he can hear his own bones grind and crack simultaneously to feeling them slide and snap under his skin. He holds the knife with his left hand, he's trained himself to fight left-handed, sure, but he's not gonna be able to last long…

Still, it's a damn luxury to have just one demon to worry about.

Out the corner of his eye he can see Castiel quickly dispatching two of the demons swarming Sam, but in that very moment Crowley reappears, and he's holding something, a blurred shape Dean can't quite make out, because he's busy trying to stick the knife into his own demon's stomach.

He can hear Sam cry out suddenly, and he turns, just as the knife sinks in the demon's gut.

Cas is wet, drenched in something slick and viscous, and he sways in shock, while Crowley tosses away an empty, rusty jug that looks ancient. Castiel is gripping his blade, but he's not attacking, and Sam looks downright _green_, while the three remaining demons appear to be held at bay…

It all registers in Dean's brain in the very same second as Crowley pulls out a small, silver item from his blazer pocket – a cigarette lighter.

"No, _nooo_!"

Dean hardly recognises his own voice, he wouldn't realise that the raw, utterly desperate, loud scream is his own, if it didn't burn and scrape so horribly in his throat.

His whole body is suddenly so numb that he doesn't feel himself moving as he runs the few steps separating him from Cas. He can't hear anything for a moment, his brain filled with dull, deafening fog, and he trips, barely avoiding a fall, and stops abruptly just two feet away from Cas when Crowley flicks the lighter open.

The metallic click sinks into Dean's brain with blood-chilling clarity, the only sound in the world at this moment. Then the scrape and quiet hum of a flame springing into life.

Dean struggles to breathe and to come up with something, _anything_, as his own words to Gabriel come back to him sickeningly.

_"…dunk you in Holy Oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel!"_

The Holy Oil drips slowly off Castiel's nose, chin, hair, trench coat, the droplets stretching and reluctant to detach, and Cas looks like he's having some trouble breathing freely with the thick liquid drenching him completely. His blue eyes are intense and trained on Crowley, and Dean's stomach sinks when he realises his angel is not budging. There may be panic in his eyes, but there is no _fear_.

"Don't you dare, don't you dare, you son of a bitch," Dean growls out, and he's not sure to whom he's directing those words – Crowley, or maybe Cas, always so willing to lie down nice and easy on the altar of sacrifice.

Crowley chuckles, playing with the lighter. He increases the flame and raises his hand, ready to throw…

"No!" Dean screams, Sam's own shout piercing the mountain silence as well.

A sound flows rapidly through the air, Crowley's hand freezing absolutely as his dark eyes go wide. It's a strong, ringing call, a single tune that rings out in the still air, echoing across the peaks.

It's a horn.

The air feels like cut glass, embedding them all into stillness, and Sam feels his whole body tense in the silence as the last of the sound waves resonate. His skin is aching, but the motionlessness is stronger.

And then the sound returns, this time a few of them, following each other into a brief melody that seems to make something grow, it's an introduction that feels like climbing a few last steps of stairs, and along with it, on the close peak of their mountain, Sam can see Gabriel's silhouette strolling into view, the Horn pressed to his lips and pointed upwards.

The archangel takes a breath, while a low, painful groan wrings itself weakly out of Crowley's throat.

A breeze rushes forward and blows over them with gentleness and strength as Gabriel blows again, an intricate melody ringing out. It's absolutely spellbinding and causing soul to move, it's a signal and encouragement into a battle charge, a holy summon woven in music, and an ode of celebration, it's all of these things and more, it's _everything_.

The sound is raw and ancient and perfect, and Sam can almost feel it reverberate through the air, shaping the reality, as if every single fibre of existence was made of cosmic matter that the sound is the key to, a key to reality itself. It's a sound in which finality and beginning entwine in an ultimate loop.

As Gabriel plays, eyes closed, sun blazing into halo in his golden hair, the shift in the air becomes palpable, and Sam can feel it coursing through him, his soul tugging in a response that _Sam_ doesn't understand, but which _Sam's soul_ is connected to via something incomprehensible and ancient.

Crowley moans and groans in pain, pressing his hands to his ears as the last remaining demons vanish, dissolving into air in screams that drown and pale in comparison with the strength and perfection of the Horn's melody. The oil on Castiel's form begins to glow and fracture, morphing into feather-light flecks of shimmering light which then disperse into the air, and Gabriel keeps on playing.

Sam feels rapture, he feels he's swaying on the edge of something long-since forgotten that he's never recalled in his life, but if the music lasts just a moment longer, he will topple into the ecstatic abyss and _remember_, remember all this Something that his soul seems to _know_.

It's like the very first sound in existence, so pure, primal and eternal that it would also _have to_ be the last.

Crowley vanishes, blown away, as the melody steps down into a finale, and Sam watches, mesmerized, because this is the archangel Gabriel playing his fabled Horn. When at last he stops, slowly lowering the hand holding the holy instrument, Sam still feels like he's filled with a light of absolute revelation.

He turns his head minutely to look at Dean, and he sees a look of sheer rapture and wonderment on his brother's face, in his eyes, a look that paints the image of Sam's own feelings at the moment.

"Wow," Dean croaks weakly, blinking, and Sam focuses on the ebbing feeling of rhapsody inside him, because it's leaving too quickly, too quickly…

"Hey there," Gabriel smirks, hopping off the larger boulders as he makes his way towards the clearing where the three of them are stationed. And Sam stares, wide eyed, because more than ever he has just been hit with some deep, subconscious realisation that Gabriel is the saint archangel. Sam doesn't know if it's the trick of strong sunlight or maybe his own eyes and imagination, but he can swear he sees a golden circle of halo behind Gabriel's head, like a rising sun.

"The hell was that?" Dean asks, turning to Castiel, and whatever it is he's asking, Castiel of course knows what he means.

"It was your soul connecting to the holy and ancient nature of the melody Gabriel's Horn played," Castiel explains, and there's a small smile on his lips and bright peace in his eyes. "I cannot quite put it in human terms, but – your soul is, in a way, older than you are, Dean. It is made of the same essence as the most ancient of things in this world, and therefore it connects with Gabriel's Horn, because it is the key, the _logos_ if you will, to the order of the cosmos."

"Well, one of the keys," Gabriel finishes his stroll up to them. "But yeah, the divine with the profane, both sides of the reality, the whole shebang."

"I felt like I remembered something," Dean whispers to Castiel, transfixed, and the angel smiles gently.

"That's quite correct. Your soul was connecting to all the truths and the essence that the Horn was moving. Your mind isn't aware of them, but your soul is."

"That was amazing," Sam blurts out, the last remnants of the high still flickering inside his chest.

"Why, thank you," Gabriel grins, and Sam feels he's blushing. Just a little.

The smirk, however, isn't reaching the archangel's bright, golden eyes, and they drop to the Horn in his hand. He seems pensive for a moment, until he tosses the instrument up into the air, where it vanishes.

"So, good job, guys," Gabriel grins at them all. "CasCas, if I may…" he holds out a hand, and Castiel produces the astrolabe disc from his coat pocket, and deposits it on Gabriel's palm. "Thank you," Gabriel says, and the words are pure and sincere. "I'll make sure it's destroyed."

Castiel nods solemnly, looking into his brother's eyes.

"Yes, you better do."

* * *

Dean stretches, sighing contently as he rests against the mattress and pillows, arms loosely embracing Castiel in the waist as his angel settles atop him, blue eyes peaceful, a small, calm smile playing around his lips. It's a slow, lazy morning, one of the few where Cas wakes up before Dean, and Dean is enjoying every moment of it, sprawled contently back on the bed, tangled in the sheets and covers with his angel.

Castiel's bare skin is smooth and soft under Dean's hands, and he idly strokes the flesh in the dip of Castiel's lower back. Cas is sleep-warm, his body pressed cosily against Dean's, his black hair mussed and completely chaotic, and Dean knows him so very, very well that he sees how absolutely at peace and content his angel is, lingering in the lazy moment. And damn, those flushed, plump lips are just the most kissable thing in the world.

The blue eyes look down at him with softness and tranquil happiness, and Dean grins, running one hand up Castiel's back and into his wild hair, cupping the back of his head and gently pulling him down into another slow kiss of the morning. Cas gives a quiet hum which Dean can taste on his tongue as he deepens the kiss, slowly threading his fingers through Cas' hair, trailing down the nape of his neck, following the spine with just the sort of pressure of fingers into skin that he know Cas likes best.

He reaches between his angel's shoulder blades and begins to scratch and rub the spot, stroking and massaging the sensitive wings where they meet Castiel's body. Cas begins purring, the kiss resonating softly with the vibrations, and Dean slightly increases the pressure, massaging out the flexible muscles along the spine. Cas slowly pulls away from the kiss, tilting his head back, eyes closed, damp lips pared as he aches back slightly, humming contently in pleasure, and Dean is full out grinning by now, his chest feeling light despite the almost painful swell of his heart. He wraps his other arm tightly around Castiel's waist, holding him close, and damn it, Cas is _beautiful_, with those closed eyes, small frown of pleasure, and a hint of teeth between parted lips. The tendons of his throat are gorgeous beyond control, so Dean leans up and places a trail of kisses along his angel's neck, down to the hollow between his collarbones, before dropping back down onto the pillows, the summery taste of Castiel's skin sweet and tangy on his lips.

Skilfully manoeuvring, he digs his fingers into one particular spot in one particular way that he's discovered once by accident, and Castiel rapidly just _sinks_ down onto Dean, a blissful sigh escaping his smiling mouth, and Dean laughs, because this thing never fails to amuse him. It's absolutely ridiculous, Cas just liquefying because of having his wing spot rubbed in a particular way, and Dean loves doing that sometimes, when they're relaxing.

He breathes a warm, loving chuckle into Cas' ear, and kisses the dark, messy hair before carding his fingers through the soft strands.

They haven't spoken even once to each other this morning, and it's been about half an hour since Dean woke, if his alarm clock is reliable. Sometimes they just don't need to talk, and Dean likes it.

Minutes tick by and they just lie, Cas relaxed on top of Dean, thoughts wandering lazily around the room.

It's nice.

And damn, right now, Dean thinks this is pretty much all he wants. Yeah. Sammy safe and sound, Cas too and within reach to be kissed. He has it now, and it's a good carrot to keep him even more determined to get the tablets shit in order and tucked away, because then maybe he'll get to have this for permanent.

"Hmm," Castiel hums in agreement, and Dean strokes down his back. What the heck. Every now and then the bastard can read his thoughts.

"You know what, you were right," he murmurs into Cas' ear and brushes a kiss over it.

"When specifically?" Cas asks cheekily, and Dean gently nips on his earlobe in retaliation.

"Right when we first met. I guess… yeah, I guess good things do happen, y'know."

The deep, happy sigh Castiel breathes is pure light.

* * *

It's been five days since they gave Gabriel the astrolabe disc, and they haven't heard from him yet. And Sam _isn't_ moping.

Well – sure, yeah, he supposes he misses the hyperactive archangel, because he's a really fun guy to be around when he's on their side. And he's basically declared he'll _stay_ on their side, which has Sam oddly happy whenever he thinks of it. It should be because Gabriel is the most powerful thing on Earth now, which means he's a kickass ally, but it's not. It's a perk, yeah, but not the source of Sam's happiness.

He likes Gabriel, _a lot_. And he really should be freaked out about this, but for whatever blessed reason, he's actually fine with it. Maybe it's because of the Dean/Cas role model he has, but he's not even sure he's into Gabriel _that way_.

Wow. It really should freak him out a lot more. But actually it's amusing, which, if he thinks about it, should raise a red flag about his mental health. (Again.)

But he's gotten to know Gabriel really well over the past days, and he likes and respects what he's learned about him. To begin with, he can relate to him running away from home, he understands that completely, and understands that Gabriel doesn't want to go back, even after all this time and all the things that had happened in Heaven.

When he steps away from his usual cheeky, obscene and overly humorous attitude, Gabriel reveals his serious side, one where Sam truly sees the archangel that he is. Powerful, deadly and benevolent in the end. He remembers Gabriel playing the Horn, the way the reality itself shifted around the archangel, the blazing, golden halo of sun, and the thrill of primal recognition the ancient melody evoked in Sam's soul.

He also remembers Gabriel's return from the dead, his small frame swathed in white, pooling fabric and rendering him looking really like an angel from a XVI-century painting – swept, tranquil and filled with inner power.

There is something in Gabriel's honey gold eyes – so very, very gold eyes. Something that always made Sam feel like he can, after all, be reasoned with, even already back when he knew him as just the Trickster. He doesn't know what this something is, maybe it's the experience, the pain, the mutiny or the love.

Or maybe all of those things.

"Ah!" he hisses abruptly as something scalding hot sears into the skin of his hand, and he snaps back into reality which has him pouring freshly brewed coffee into his mug. He'd gotten too deep in thought and the boiling broth overflowed, splashing onto his free hand.

Cursing under his breath, Sam quickly puts the coffee pot away, turns on the faucet and shoves his hand under a strong stream of cold water. It helps, and he heaves a sigh, tending to his hand for a few more moments, until the worst of the burn subsides. He takes some paper towels and fixes the mess, bends over the mug perched on the countertop and carefully slurps some of the coffee off the top. He then takes a look at his hand – the skin is slightly red and very tender, but it doesn't need any ointments.

He takes the mug to the living room, where he smiles at Cas lounging on the sofa. He's reading _The Great Gatsby_ which Sam has lent him, and he seems pretty interested. He looks up just to greet Sam and goes back to the book. With his reading speed, he'll be done with it by afternoon.

Sam settles down beside his friend, and carefully sips the coffee. So anyway, Gabriel-

"Sam, where the hell is my switchblade?!" Dean growls, storming into the room in accusation.

"Dude, how should I know?" Sam shrugs. So much for a quiet moment. "I always know where I put my things, you should try that sometime."

"I know where I put my things, too, I just forget where I put them," Dean growls, beginning to ransack the room.

"That's called losing things, jerk!"

"Bitch! What did you do with it, you borrowed it like two weeks ago."

"No, I didn't!"

"It's under our bed, Dean," a hitherto silent Castiel speaks, turning a page in his book.

Sam and Dean stare at him for a moment.

"What? How do you know?" Dean asks, puzzled.

Castiel does a slightly stiff, one-shouldered shrug.

"I just do," he explains, flashing large blue eyes up at Dean, and of course that's enough to mollify Sam's obnoxious brother completely.

"Oh. Cool, thanks."

"Yeah, apology accepted," Sam snaps at Dean who rolls his eyes and mutters something about a bitchface.

Castiel looks up from his book again, an attentive expression on his face, and before Sam can ask what is it, there is a waft of wings in the air, and the increasingly frequent subject of Sam's thoughts materialises right before him.

"Hey, Gabe," Sam smiles, surprised, to which the archangel winks.

"Hey, Sammy, Dean-o. Bro, I need to borrow you for a second," he turns to Castiel, hands in jacket pockets.

"What is it, Gabriel?"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" Dean cuts in, raising his hands in an abortive gesture. "You just waltz in here after being AWOL for days. What about that astrolabe, assclown, did you smite it?" he demands angrily, to which Gabriel remains unfazed.

"Yeah, yeah, don't rattle your noggin, Deanchester, the disc is incinerated. So, CasCas, gimme a hand?"

"Is there a problem?" Castiel asks, already putting his book down.

"Nah, just need your opinion on something," Gabriel waves a dismissive hand.

"Fine," Cas rises off the sofa, and turns to look at Dean. "I'll be back soon," he reassures, and Sam has to swallow back a legitimate squeal, because sometimes those two are just unhealthily adorable.

"Oh, yeah, me too," Gabriel winks at Sam, grinning playfully. "I'm not done with you."

Sam's throat goes a little dry, but he swallows and quickly pushes any morally suspicious thoughts away.

"So, you're staying with us?" he asks.

"Well, not _staaaaying_, but yeah, definitely gonna hang more. Come on, CasCas."

And promptly, before either Winchester can blink, both angels disappear, as always leaving Sam blinking for a moment to adjust his vision. There's something strange in watching an angel leave, it happens too quickly for his brain to catch up with, leaving an uncomfortable, almost astigmatic feeling for a moment. Dean doesn't seem to have such a problem anymore.

And, as always when 'his angel' leaves, Dean goes into a sulk. Personally, Sam can barely hold back a grin, because they've got the archangel on their side for good now. Of course, this instantly earns him resentment from his brother.

"What are you so happy about, you Muppet?" Dean growls, fiddling with the book Castiel left behind.

"Nothing," Sam shrugs. "Just, things are going okay for once, and we got the last of the archangels on our team now. Seems like a good thing to me."

"Oh god, since when is the diabetic Munchkin staying a _good thing_?" Dean groans.

"Come on, dude, he's not that bad…" Sam shrugs again, and Dean recoils. "What? He's helping, and he's a good guy."

"Dude, you in love with him or something?" Dean scoffs.

And Sam feels his face burn. He's not in love with Gabriel, no way, but for some reason the implication makes him blush like he probably never did in his life, and he looks down instantly, cheeks flaming hot. Before him, Dean utters a strange, gurgling sound of someone in dire need of a Heimlich manoeuvre, following with an asthmatic gasp.

"Dude- I- What-! I-" Dean splutters, flailing.

"No, Dean, I-" Sam rushes with an explanation, but gets slightly stuck in his own words. "I'm _not_, I just… I mean, I really like him, a lot," he makes a vague gesture with his hands, desperate for clarity that he doesn't have even in his own mind.

Dean gapes, and Sam feels a stab of urgency for explanations, because the way Dean's face is progressing from white to blue makes Sam worry he might rapidly become an only child.

"I just mean that…" Sam tries his best, taking a moment to think. "I _really like him_. I mean, really," he alludes, feeling almost kamikaze-brave.

Dean thinks he should sometime look up the signs of an oncoming aneurism. Because he's pretty sure he's having one now.

Sammy. Liking Gabriel. As in, really liking him. No, no, that can't be right.

"The hell, Sam?" he chokes out at last.

"Look – he's really not so bad," Sam jumps in with that reasonable tone he's using when he's shovelling a load of crap Dean's way and hoping he'll buy it. "So just give it a chance, you guys started off on the wrong foot-"

"Yeah, he fucking _killed me_, a _thousand_ times!" Dean explodes just a little.

"I know, I was there, and I remember every single time," Sam snaps, but then reins in, Dean can see him containing his annoyance to plough on with the rationality. "Look – I'm just saying, maybe try to get to know him, maybe you'll get along."

"Seriously, Sammy?" Dean can't believe what he's hearing – Sammy is spinning some Big Happy Family scenario in that long-haired head of his.

"Well – Cas and I didn't really get along that well when we first met…"

"_Cas didn't drop a piano on you, Sam_!"

Bitchface.

"That's not the point. The point is, we started off a bit rough, I was the abomination and he wasn't what I was expecting… I mean, don't get me wrong, we're great now, he's my friend and I love him," Sammy rushes in with reassurances, and Dean rolls his eyes at the overflow of sappy sentiments accentuated by friggin puppy eyes. "But that's because we were willing to get to know each other, and it worked out great. So – maybe just give it a try? That's all I'm saying."

And there it is, that open, honest, vulnerable kid face, big eyes, pained eyebrows, head pressed into shoulders. Damn that kid, damn his hopeless there's-good-in-everyone ideas and damn his soulful gaze. The little fucker's been pulling this stunt ever since he was six or something, and Dean's still caving in when faced with it.

So he lets out a long, growling groan, and shoots Sam a look of stinking reluctance, just to show him how very not on board he is with this crap.

"Okay, okay, you big sap… I'll give it a try."

Sam beams way too much for Dean's tolerance.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed :) Like I said, one more chapter and then probably something like a sequel, though there won't be any direct connection to the plot of this story.**

**Reviews are cherished!**


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